


Playing with Fire

by sksdwrld



Series: Feeling the Burn [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bottom!Harry, D/s, Graphic Sex, M/M, post—hogwarts, romania - Freeform, slave - Freeform, slavefic, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 160,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Hogwarts, Harry spends the summer in Romania with Ron and Charlie, but come fall, Ron returns to England and Harry stays on with Ivan, an intriguing trainer who works with more than Dragons. Harry learns that he is a natural submissive and very much enjoys his new role in the life he has chosen for himself. But when his training is complete, he finds himself on the auction block, and the highest bidder is none-other than his arch nemesis from Hogwarts. Can he maintain his composure, or will it all come crumbling apart on the journey back to England? Once he gets there, what will become of him? Draco lives it up as a young and wealthy heir with minimal responsibility. He makes the journey to Romania to visit the Slavery that his family has frequented for generations, only to find Harry Potter on the auction block.  Now is his chance to turn the tables and even the score between them. But as he contemplates his inevitable future, he learns he is not so much like his father as he once thought. How will he deal with the responsibilities of owning and caring for a slave, when he can barely take care of himself? Will he be able to come to terms with his feelings and his arranged marriage before everything is too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is completed but will be posted slowly. There is a lot of angst, some violence, little gore, but has a happy ending. 
> 
> This is a slavery fic that is heavy in D/s, and features mild BDSM. It starts with a lot of animosity between Harry and Draco. There just isn't any other way with these two.
> 
> This is an AU fic that follows canon to GOF. Here, it is assumed that Voldemort is slayed by Harry during the tournament. Following that time, Lucius was briefly imprisoned in Azkaban for his crimes. Harry graduated as usual. This fic picks up after graduation.

After graduation from Hogwarts, Harry wanted nothing more than to escape England for awhile. Luckily for him, he had already made arrangements to summer in Romania with Ron, Charlie, and the Dragons. He expected that some day’s they’d work, and some days they’d goof off, and by the end of it all, he’d be more than ready for the Auror Training Program that he’d signed himself up for. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but there had already been publicity surrounding his career decision, and frankly, he was ready for his life to slip into some semblance of normalcy. 

The days were long and the nights seemed longer, especially since without Hermione, there wasn’t any form of intelligent conversation to be had, at all. For the last two weeks, they had built a campfire, roasted meats and vegetables on sticks, or wrapped food items in foil and buried them under the embers. At first, it was great fun, like muggle camping was rumored to be. And Harry and Ron were given then old bunk-house for quarters. It hadn’t been used in over two years, not since the semi-private cabins had been built for the dragon trainers. From the outside, the cabins looked like outhouses, small and narrow. But of course, they were magicked to entertain much larger quarters once one stepped past the threshold. 

 

“Charlie,” Ron said, poking a stick into the camp fire for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last hour.

“Hmm?” Charlie lifted his head off the log he’d been using as a pillow and squinted over at his brother.

“Don’t get me wrong. When I said I loved camp fires, I really meant it. But…don’t you do anything else here?”

“Do anything else?” the oldest red-head in the group parroted. “I train bloody dragons for a living, Ron. By the end of the day, all I want to do is heat myself a quick meal over the camp fire, watch the stars a bit, and turn in for the night.”

“We’re in bloody Romania, Ron” Harry chimed in, not bothering to open his eyes, but stretching his heels down toward the fire. “Not exactly the hub of excitement.” And frankly, Harry had already lived a lifetime of excitement. He was more than happy to camp out with a bunch of men and women who valued hard work. Maybe he would see if they would take on an intern after the summer was over. Maybe he’d rather stay here than return to England. There was a serenity here. Things were hard and fast, do or don’t, live or die. Not full of complex puzzles and social expectations.

“Budge over, there, Chuck.” A deep voice, thick with Hungarian accent spoke from the darkness just before a stocky, lean-muscled body climbed over the log and lowered itself to the ground.

Charlie scowled as he shifted his weight. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“I know. Das why I said it.” The dark-haired man grinned wryly and balanced a bowl of steaming food in one hand while he scratched the scruff on his face with the other.

“Boys, this is Ivan. Ivan, my baby brother Ron and his best mate, Harry. Ivan just got back from a trip into Moscow for supplies. He’s a cut-throat bastard if I ever met one, but a hell of a dragon-wrangler.”

Ivan paused to shovel a huge spoonful of food into his mouth before reaching sideways to shake hands. His black-eyed gaze barely registered with Ron, who was busy protesting that he was, in fact, a man, not a baby. But when they met with green, they caught and held, flickered down in assessment, and then back up.

Harry smiled awkwardly, pumped the man’s hand a few more times, then retreated back against his own log.

“You know,” Ivan said around another mouthful of food. “I seem to recall not so long ago myself, a young man who was itching to get out to the clubs and find a lady friend…”

“Bloody hell, there’s clubs? Charlie, why didn’t you say so?” Ron pestered, stabbing the fire even harder, sending sparks skyward.

“In Bucharest,” he sighed. “Mum made me promise not to tell you about them.”

“Und Constanta” Ivan chimed in with a grin. 

It was Charlie’s turn to bolt upright. He gave a fierce shake of his head. “Not the port. You boys had better not go there. If I find out you’ve been, I’ll tan your hides myself.” He pointed his finger at each of them in turn.

“What’s in Constanta?” Ron said, engaging Harry with a smile.

“Never you mind that. Bad places. Dangerous places. You stay the hell away from Constantia!” Charlie pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his rear end. “I can’t take anymore talk of going to the clubs, I’m for bed. And you should be too, if you know what’s good for you. Ivan-no more tales from you, putting ideas in their daft heads.”

Ivan and Ron rolled their eyes at Charlie, and he scowled before storming away.

“Chuckie’s a bit uptight these days,” Ivan advised them both. “I’ll take you to the clubs myself if he won’t. Strapping young men like yourselves…no good for you to spend the summer cooped up with a bunch of nutters in the wilderness.”

 

 

A week later, Harry found himself sharing a table with Ivan at Club Nouveau, one of many French clubs in Bucharest. The two of them shared at laugh watching the two ginger-haired brothers try to bump and grind their way across the dance floor full of scantily clad women.

Harry smiled widely when Ivan returned from his most recent departure with two drinks in hand. He passed one to Harry and nodded. “Hope you haven’t got an aversion to Wodka…”

Harry accepted the cup, smelled it, and shrugged. “Thanks. No, I haven’t got one yet. Mostly at sch-“ He traded the word off because it sounded so immature. “At Hogwarts, we drank firewhiskey. I’m glad to try something new.”

“Firewhiskey is rough, but this’ll put hair on your chest!” Ivan laughed and clinked his plastic cup against Harry’s.

Harry smiled into his cup and took a swallow, then slumped in his chair, stretching his feet outward.

When they had finished their drinks, Ivan rubbed his chin, recently shaved for just this occasion, then kicked one of Harry’s feet to get his attention.

“Oh, sorry, am I in the way?” Harry started to sit up, but a warm hand on his forearm stopped him. 

“No, please. I was just wondering. Why are you not dancing?”

“Me?” Harry felt the color begin to rise in his cheeks. “Oh. Well.” He bit his lip. “This really isn’t my scene, if you know what I mean.” He waved vaguely in the direction of a woman who just passed them, wearing what looked like lime green bandages in the shape of “X”s to cover her nipples, and a neon-pink skirt that was so short, it might have been a belt. “You’re not dancing either.” Harry felt justified in pointing out.

“Not my scene either.” A wide grin broke his face in two, and the hand dropped from Harry’s forearm (oh, was it still there?) to his mid-thigh region, giving a brief squeeze. 

Harry’s breath had completely deserted him. How had he missed this? The exchange of glances all week, the smiles in passing…he thought Ivan was only being friendly. He thought his attraction to the dark-haired Romanian was one-sided. Ivan was in his mid-thirties after all, what interest could he possibly hold with an eighteen year old boy? 

“I hope I am not being too presumptuous?” The hand started to withdraw.

Quickly, Harry shook his head, slumping down again on the chair and drawing his knees farther apart, brushing one leg against Ivan’s. “No, not at all.” He managed a smile that he hoped was welcoming and not too tentative. His experience was limited to clumsy fumbling and hurried fucking in dark corners of school with a few boys like himself. He had nothing worldly to offer here.

Ivan leaned closer, his lips brushing the tops of Harry’s ears while he spoke, the low rumble of his voice still audible over the thumping techno beat. “Perhaps you would rather accompany me to a place more our…taste?” His hand slid further up Harry’s thigh only a moment before returning to it’s previous occupance, but it had Harry’s heart hammering in his chest. 

He bit his lip, then nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

“Oh, but,” Ivan frowned and withdrew away completely, stroking his chin with the hand that had twice captivated Harry with it’s touch. Harry watched in consternation. His prick was already half hard at the thought of going…well, anywhere, with this mysterious bloke. He didn’t want to disappoint it, not that tossing off with Ron in the room was a challenge after seven years of sharing dorms together, but still. “But it’s in Constanta. And Charlie said…”

Harry waved his hand impatiently. “Charlie’s not my keeper. Besides, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him. Can you side-along me?” He gave a winning smile and batted his eyes once or twice.

Ivan’s face cleared and he laughed, taking immediate hold of Harry’s wrist. “Let’s go outside then. I want to smoke first, yes?”

“Yes.”

 

Harry tried not to dance his feet around with impatience during the three minutes it took Ivan to smoke a hand-rolled cigarette, blowing the smoke skyward. He offered it to Harry more than once, who only shook his head and smiled.

“Alright, are you ready?” Ivan held his arm outward, and Harry easily filled the space created, trying not to seem too eager to press his body tightly against the other’s. Ivan closed his arms and Harry felt that familiar sucking sensation tug at his body almost immediately.

They were spit out in a dark alleyway that smelled like urine. Harry wrinkled his nose. He hoped that this wasn’t the place that they would both find interest in…because if they’d come just for sex, he could just as easily accommodate in the empty bunk house, or in the dragon barn as he could in this smelly alleyway. Ivan seemed unaffected by the stench and stepped over a sleeping vagrant, withdrawing his wand from his pants where he kept it tucked against his thigh. He tapped the wall four times, then gestured for Harry to follow him in when it shifted back, creating a space.

The beat of the music in this place was similar, but the atmosphere was completely different. Here, it was mostly dark, and there were no seizure inducing strobe lights. There were men of all different sizes and heights, most of them wearing leather. Harry suddenly felt a little self-conscious in his denim jeans and t-shirt, but Ivan seemed not to notice. 

Then, another man walked by, and this time scrambling after him was another man, wearing only leather knickers, and a spiked collar attached to a leash in the first man’s hand. Harry gaped at them, then gazed quickly around the rest of the club. Older men and younger men, in various arenas…one man being publicly spanked while a group cheered on the man wielding the paddle…

“I’m sorry,” Came that rough voice in his ear again. “I wasn’t thinking. This isn’t the place I meant to bring you. I only came out of habit. I…come here alone sometimes. Let’s go.”

Harry stiffened when the older man took his arm. His cock was rock solid and pulsing in his pants. He’d never seen such things, never dreamed that such a place existed. It was exciting and new, this place.

“Or did you want to stay?” There was surprise in Ivan’s voice this time.

“S-stay.” Harry managed to find his voice, turning his face toward Ivan with a shaky smile. “If you want to, I mean. We can stay.” He pressed his body close to his Romanian friend when a stream of people pushed past them on their way outside. He was sure that Ivan could feel his solid length against his hip, where Harry leaned against him. 

Ivan’s eyes flickered over him, and he canted his hip against Harry, indicating that he felt it. “This excites you?”

Harry felt himself flush. “I think so.” You excite me is what he really wanted to say, but wasn’t that bold.

“Alright, come on then. I get us drinks. You stay close to me. Charlie was right, this place is dangerous for pretty boys like…for you.”

Harry’s mind was swimming. ‘For pretty boys like you’ is what Ivan was going to say. He tucked his fingers into Ivan’s belt from behind and leg himself be tugged through the crowd toward the bar. He felt several pairs of eyes on him, assessing him, and then he knew what Ivan said was true. He was busy chewing his lip nervously by the time Ivan turned back to him.

Seeing him like that, and the predatory looks from other men, Ivan thrust one of the drinks into Harry’s hand, then pulled him close, narrowing his eyes at the others. They made their way through the throng of people in the small club, which was more like a bar. There was nowhere to sit, although there was a bare patch of wall near the rear. The two dark-haired men claimed it as their own, and Ivan watched Harry taking in the sights, green eyes wide. Harry veritably downed his drink in three gulps, and when Ivan finished his own, he threw the plastic cups on the floor with a sea of others.

“Who…who are they…spanking?” The word seemed so dirty to Harry when he said it. Thinking about the premise of doing such things, being the recipient of such things, well that was one thing. Talking about it with someone else was another.

Ivan lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know him. A customer. Must be new.”

“They spank the customers?” Harry was incredulous, and pressed tighter against Ivan, his buttocks clenching at the thought.

“Well, only if they want to be,” Ivan’s eyes twinkled down at Harry, whose chest was rising and falling much more quickly than usual. “Or if their masters call for it.”

“Masters?” Harry tore his eyes from the scene at hand and found Ivan’s.

“My, my. You are an innocent, aren’t you?” he mused, pinching the skin of his chin again, as if he missed the scruff that had grown there. “Yes. Masters. Some men like to play at owning, and at being owned. Controlling someone sexually can be very…how do you say…erotic?”

Harry shivered at the word. “Do you like it?”

Ivan seemed to contemplate this a moment. “Yes, I like it. But not everyone does.”

“But everyone here does?” 

Ivan chuckled. “Yes, everyone here likes to control, or be controlled. It’s a partnership. There has to be both roles for it to work.”

“Oh.” Harry said simply.

“So, if other...wizards were looking at us, they would think that we-“

Ivan nodded. “Does that bother you? Do you want to go?”

Harry’s eyes flickered back to the stage, where the paddled man was groaning and pushing his red arse up in the air like he was looking for more licks. “No.”

“Harry.”

After a moment, he tore his eyes away from the scene and looked back to the one who brought him here. “Yeah?”

Ivan turned him fully against the wall, one hand loosely encircling Harry’s neck, pushing his chin up, and then their lips came together. Harry groaned and circled his arms tight around Ivan’s waist, turning his face up higher, yielding to the demanding tongue, thrusting it’s way into his mouth, feeling him from the inside out.

Harry didn’t realize that he was rocking his hips so forcefully against the others until Ivan drew back to laugh at him, pinning Harry’s hips back against the wall with one hand and loosening the fly of both their trousers with the other. He silenced Harry’s tentative protest with another kiss, and freed both of their cocks to rub against eachother. Ivan angled his hips and began to rock them in a slow rhythm, drawing their hardness together, his prick gliding up, teasing Harry’s, which was slick with his precome.

There was a flurry of motion as Harry’s hands came up, flustering at Ivan’s hips, pushing at his chest. He lifted his head.

“You want me to stop?” Ivan eyed Harry squarely, but didn’t stop frotting.

“Ah, God. Please. No. I mean, I’m going to-” Harry panted, his face red.

Ivan laced their hands together, pinning Harry more firmly against the wall, and increased the tempo of his drive. “Come?” He prompted almost lazily, licking Harry’s earlobe.

And with an embarrassed gasp, Harry did. “Sorry, sorry…I-” he began, red-faced. 

Ivan kissed him languidly then, before waving away the mess with his wand. He rolled his own back to the wall, pulling Harry around with him. “Don’t worry, no one saw.” He busied himself tucking Harry back into his own pants and doing up his fly. “And if they did, no one cared. Romania isn’t like England, you’re a prissy lot there,” Ivan teased.

“I’m not prissy!” Harry argued into Ivan’s neck.

“Oh no?” Ivan bumped his hips against Harry’s leg enough times to remind him that he was still hard and eager for release. “Show me how un-prissy you are then!” He smirked at Harry, fingering his hair a minute, then gently pushed down on his shoulders.

Harry sank down to his knees gracefully, and looking up at Ivan, whispered, “I’ll show you.” With determination, he licked his lips, then opened his mouth wide and worked it around Ivan’s cock until he felt fingers tighten in his hair.

 

When Harry and Ivan returned to the Dragon camp, Charlie and Ron were sitting up, listlessly poking the fire.

“Merlin, Harry, where have you been?” Charlie jumped to his feet, hands on his hips.

Harry had to laugh at him. “Calm down, Molly. I was with Ivan, nothing to worry about.”

“Da, Harry was with me. Nothing to worry about.”

Ron gaped at them when Ivan wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist from behind, and steered him toward his cabin.

“That’s exactly what I was worried about…” Charlie murmured, eyes wide as he shook his head. “Harry, don’t you think you ought to go to bed?”

“He is!” Ivan called over his shoulder with merriment.

“Yeah, I am!” Harry seconded, disappearing into Ivan’s cabin and shutting the door.


	2. 2

The following morning, Ivan got up with the rising sun and went down into the Dragon field as usual. Harry, however, did not emerge until much later. In fact, it was drawing on noon by the time he emerged on the doorstep, sheepishly pulling the door closed behind him. He smoothed his clothes, then rumpled a hand through his hair, squinting into the light. A few of the women-trainers in the area gave a few cat-calls, and he blushed fiercely, cramming his hands into his pockets and tucking his head down as he made his way over to where Ron was cramming a sandwich into his mouth near the fire pit.

Harry dropped down on the log beside him, and Ron turned to look at him incredulously. “What in the bloody hell did you do last night?”

Harry jostled him in a friendly manner. “Give me one of those sandwiches eh? I’m ravenous.”

“Seriously.” Rom said, reaching into the messenger bag he’d taken to carrying with him, and passing the vittles over. “I thought someone cast a Petrificus Totalus on Charlie the moment he realized you and Ivan had gone off somewhere together. He went completely stiff, and the he grabbed my arm and disapparated us back here, and then started raving and pacing like a nutter.”

Harry scowled and tore a hefty bite out of the sandwich. “We went to a gay bar, Ron. All those girls wearing next to nothing was really turning our stomachs.”

“In Constantia or Constanta or whatever it’s called?” Ron pressed, his eyebrows shooting practically into his hairline. 

“Yeah. So what? Ivan goes there all the time, and I was with him. It was fine. I don’t know what Charlie’s got his knickers in a twist for.” Harry took another bite, chewing slowly. 

“Charlie says men like Ivan is the reason Constantia is a dangerous place. He said that people get kidnapped in the port, and no one ever sees them again.”

“I don’t see where those two things have anything to do with each other. We went straight to the club, and then came, er, right back.” Harry finished his sandwich in a hurry, and then craned his head, squinting toward the sun before casting a Tempus. Then he whistled lowly.

Ron scowled. “Yeah, mate. It’s late. Not like you. Weren’t you just complaining yesterday that you’re still on Hogwart’s time?”

“We were up late.” Harry grumbled in self defense. “You got any pumpkin juice in there? Something to drink?”

Ron started to dig in his bag again. “Like you need another drink after last night.”

“Shut your gob, Ron!” Harry said loudly, grabbing away the canteen that was offered to him and sucking down half the contents. “I had two drinks. Two! So you can go prancing around if you like, thinking that I got myself arsed and taken advantage of, or you can accept the fact that I’m not like you in some things. I like Ivan, and I don’t care what you, or Charlie, or anyone else thinks of it.” He quit waving the canteen around and pushed it into the middle of Ron’s chest. “I’m an adult, and if I want to hop in the sack with someone I just met, then I’ll do it! Awful nice observation for you to make after you spent the night trying to pick up girls in Bucharest while Hermione is sitting back in London, waiting for you.”

“Harry!” Ron called after him, but he was too worked up. 

Harry waved his hands in the air as he stormed off, down toward the field.

 

 

Watching men and women tend to the dragons from behind the observation fence wasn’t doing anything to quell Harry’s anger. He pushed off again and headed toward one of the barns that were currently vacant. He made a quick assessment, then took out his wand and began to muck the stalls, the way he and Ron had been shown when they first came. It was something that was relatively easy to do, took no supervision, and no skill, when it came to dragon handling anyway. And, since it was one of the lesser-preferred duties, the two boys had been encouraged to pitch in whenever they could. Neither Harry nor Ron had spent any time mucking since the day they had been shown how, since Ron wasn’t to keen on the premise. Harry scowled and began to direct the piles of used hay out the barn door to the compost with more vigor. 

By the time he had finished, he was hot and sweating. He wiped his forearm across his head, matting his damp fringe to one side. Then he shook his head in a lame attempt to set it right again. He lifted his wand again, ready to cast a cooling charm, then remembered that his firebolt was still shrunken in the trunk he’d brought with him. He hadn’t even used it yet, and a nice long flight would be a great way to cool off after all his hard work.

He strolled back toward the bunkhouse, happy to see that neither Ron nor Charlie was anywhere in sight. He dragged out his trunk and rummaged through it until he found his miniaturized broomstick, then restored it to it’s former glory.

Harry had just crossed to a grassy area and mounted his broom, ready to take off, when an amused woman’s voice stopped him.

“Hey, Dragon Bait, where do you think you’re going?”

Harry craned his head and lifted a brow. “Flying? What’s it to you?”

“Really?” The nameless blond continued, re-lacing her knee high leather boots as she spoke. “And you think that’s a good idea? Bunch of barely trained dragons, a recent group of hatchlings, and you, Wally Wizard from nowhere, just occupying prime air-space, darting and mucking about without a care in the world, looking like a great snack for those beasts…”

“Well, is there somewhere else I can go?” Harry interrupted impatiently.

“Yeah.” She snorted. “Back to London if you don’t get your fool head out of your arse.” Standing, she continued to sneer. “Just because you survived one night in Constantia with Ivan as your babysitter doesn’t mean you get free reign to do what you want here. Come to think of it, you seem to be on a roll with the poor decision making skills. Let me guess, Gryffindor?”

Harry scowled. Word traveled just as quickly at this camp as it did at Hogwarts. Everyone thought they had a right to nose in to his business here too?

“I thought so,” The woman said with a smirk, misinterpreting his scowl altogether. “Foolhardiness and bravery will only get you so far. Remember that,” As she turned from him, he caught sight of a green snake tattoo, twisting it’s way up her shoulder. Bloody Slytherins. Now he remembered why he hated them so much. By the time he managed to formulate a response, she had already gone around the bend.

Harry sighed, dismounted his broomstick, and shrank it down to tuck inside his pocket. Then he wandered around the perimeter of the camp sullenly, kicking a stone until the early group began assembling for dinner.

He headed toward the group until Ron caught up with him, making a face. 

“Merlin, Harry, you stink. Did you spend the afternoon napping in a pile of dragon-shite, or what?”

“Lovely to see you too, Ron.” Harry snapped irritably. “For your information, I was mucking.”

Ron’s nose wrinkled more deeply. “And you didn’t think a freshening spell was in order?”

Harry sighed and withdrew his wand. “I was going to go flying, but then I didn’t, and I forgot.” He twirled the wand up the length of his body and swirled then flicked once he reached the top of his head. Immediately, he felt a tingle of magic against his skin, clearing away the sweat and dust. “Better?”

“Much.” Ron nodded then canted his head. “Should we see what’s on the menu for tonight?”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. Ron would always live to fill his belly.

 

 

It was sundown before the two of them were sated on spit-roasted hare and just sitting back to play a game of wizard’s chess by the fireside when Ivan made an appearance. Everyone stopped chattering and watched to see what he would do, the evening after his already infamous tryst with the famous Harry Potter.

Ivan stepped neatly over one of the logs pulled close to the fire, and helped himself to some of the left-over grub, which he plated on a dinged up bit of tin. He either didn’t notice, or didn’t care that he had become the focal point of the evening.

“Harry,” He said by way of greeting, winking down at him as he moved beyond the two young men, and crossing to someone else he knew. As soon as he engaged the other man in conversation, everyone else’s started up again.

Ron had beaten Harry four games in a row. He was so distracted, and kept checking to see if Ivan was still at the fire or not. Once, Ivan had caught him looking, given a wry grin, then raised his flask in silent salute to the boy. Harry flushed and tried to maintain his composure.

When Ivan finally rose to his feet, he made a point to travel back around, crouching to whisper in Harry’s ear, inviting him to his cabin for the second time in as many days.

Two throats cleared, and Harry’s gaze traveled first to Ron, then to Charlie, both of whom looked disapproving.

“I-I had better not,” Harry stammered, at a loss. The conversation at the fireside was dying down again.

Ivan shrugged and straightened, letting loose a string of Romanian verbiage before turning on his heel and heading for his cabin.

“What did he say?” Harry asked, feeling the bottom of his stomach fall into his feet. He wondered if he’d just been cussed out. When no one responded, Harry raised his voice and asked again. No one replied for a long time, and Harry was about to lose his temper, cuss them all out for not minding their own business, and storm away. He stood quickly with a scowl. “Nobody else speaks Romanian? 

“He said,” spoke up one Wizard who Harry thought he remembered as Tomas. “That ‘Had better not and don’t want to mean two different things in Romania’.”

Harry blushed, then shot a dirty look at both Charlie and Ron. Ivan thought that Harry didn’t want to share another night with him? Well fuck that. He bloody well did want to go to his cabin and spend the night. He turned abruptly, and without another word, followed after Ivan, who was long gone, and knocked on the door.

For a moment, he was worried that it wouldn’t open, and he’d be left out there, shamed and laughed at. But after a minute, it opened, and Harry slipped inside.

“I did want to come.” Harry breathed adamantly, inserting himself between Ivan’s arms and kissing him fervently.

A laugh rich throated bubbled out of Ivan at Harry’s forwardness, but after that he allowed himself to be tantalized by the eager rub of a young, lean body against his own.

“I ought to punish you for making me wait,” Ivan teased lowly, his eyes twinkling.

“Mmmm,” Harry agreed, nuzzling the day-old scruff at the man’s throat. “Maybe you should spank me.”

“Harry!” He chuckled with something like unease, and pulled the boy back from him to examine his face. “Be serious,”

Green eyes blinked innocently. “What if I am?”

“Then I don’t think you know what you’re in for,” Ivan stalled, reeling Harry back in for another snog.

“Try me,” Harry challenged in a whisper before accepting the kiss.

Ivan’s concentrated effort was clear, and after a moment, he lifted his head, looking pointedly into Harry’s eyes. “Get everything off then. Right now.” 

Harry blinked twice, then dropped his hands from Ivan’s shoulders to the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head carelessly before he toed off his shoes.

The black eyed man watched, stunned, then crossed to his bed and perched on one end, waiting for Harry to skim out of his boxers. Then he beckoned, and when the young man was near enough, pulled him over his knees. His fingers traced a line down Harry’s spine, then spread out to palm the curve of his arse. He kneaded the pale flesh gently. “How many?” Ivan murmured, almost to himself. “Two for every minute you made me wait?”

“Yes!” Harry readily agreed, squirming a bit in the new and not-entirely-comfortable position.

There was no further warning before Ivan’s large hand came down on Harry’s bottom five times in rapid succession, drawing a squeal of surprise from him. Then the older man paused, watching color rush into two sets of cheeks.

“Oh,” Harry said softly, his eyes closed.

“Not what you were expecting?” Ivan grinned to himself, and before he received an answer, brought his hand down again, a heavy, arcing blow that was sure to sting.

Harry’s response was to bite his lip and stifle a groan.

Ivan took his sweet time with the twenty spanks, drawing each one out by pinching and teasing the reddening flesh, then tracing his palm prints with a fingernail. By the time he finished, Harry’s arms were wrapped around his shin and his face pressed into the crook of his knee. He pried the young man up and gathered him into his arms, turning him around so that he was kneeling on either side of his thighs. Then he kissed Harry gently.

“Does it hurt much?” He smoothed one hand down Harry’s backside and let it hover, feeling the heat rising off his skin. He hadn’t been too rough, hadn’t spanked as hard as he knew he could. But as far as he was concerned, Harry was hardly more than a kid. He gave him just enough to leave a nice sting that would last a little while into the evening, and no more.

“Feels good,” Harry whispered, keeping his eyes closed. He reached back and covered Ivan’s hand on his arse with his own, then squeezed, arching back into the touch. “Mmmm.”

“Merlin, Harry.” Ivan husked. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” His free hand came up between them, and he ran his fingertip down the length of Harry’s erection, stopping to gather a large bead of pre-come before smearing it over the head.

“Tell me.” Harry said softly, jerking his hips toward Ivan, seeking out the touch that wasn’t enough and had already gone.

Ivan said something in Romanian, and Harry finally opened his eyes. 

“I hope that means that you want to fuck me now, otherwise I haven’t got a clue what you just said.”

Harry felt himself tumbled off the man’s lap and onto the bed. He bounced on the mattress, rising on all fours, and looked over his shoulder at the man who was de-robing himself with deliberation. 

Ivan conjured a handful of lube, wandlessly, and approached Harry slowly. “You’re a bloody enigma,” He said under his breath as he spread the boy’s cheeks and began to rub the oil into his skin. He coated him thoroughly before stroking his forefinger down the crack of Harry’s arse and letting it come to rest against the tender pucker there.

Harry jerked, then rocked his body back against the touch.

“Harry,” Ivan said with sudden worry. “This isn’t your first time, is it?”

No, my sixth. Harry thought. He replied, “No, but it’s been awhile.”

How long was awhile for an eighteen year old? Ivan wondered, teasing the tight asterisk of skin at the young man’s opening until it yielded, and he sank his finger in slowly, breeching the rim of muscle that fought to keep him out.

Harry tried not to gasp aloud when he was entered. He felt himself stretch around the sole finger, a thick finger, and then rocked backward, ignoring the burning sensation. He was certain that he was not ready for the second finger when it came, and a mewl escaped him. Ivan was muttering to himself in his native language, one arm firmly wrapped around Harry’s ribcage to support him.

The two of those broad fingers combined were wider than any cock Harry had taken, he was sure of it. But when they prodded and caressed his prostate moments before scissoring open, the sensation was enough to make him spasm and drive a groan from him. And then it happened again, and again; Harry bucked his hips shamelessly.

“Now. Please now!” He begged, panting.

Ivan’s fingers started to withdraw and Harry began to moan at the loss. But then the hand didn’t go away. Is that three fingers? He thought. Oh, no, no, no, no. If two fingers filled him, three would surely split him, and no man’s prick was that large.

“Ah, fuckfuckfuckfuck!” Harry chanted, his arsehole clenching and grasping. “Ivan, please!”

More Romanian followed before Ivan’s weight shifted on the bed, and Harry felt the warmth emanating from a body pressing itself against his thighs, and then the impossible stretching, burning, fantastical sense of being filled.

“Oh, oh, ohhhhh, ” Harry crooned mindlessly.

 

By the time they were finished fucking, Harry had come twice and was halfway hard again. 

Ivan seemed amused and pleased, although he was quick to tease, “Ah, youth,” as he turned Harry onto his back against the bottom of the bed before spelling the sticky mess off his coverlet. “I’d ask if I hurt you,” he began, speaking in English now that his brain was fully functional again. “But I’m certain that you liked it.”

“Mmmmph,” Harry grunted in assent, twisting his fingers into the bedcover. His arse was deliciously sore, inside and out, and he was certain that he never wanted to leave this cabin, ever.

A throaty chuckle erupted from Ivan and he shook his head. Then he reached down to finger Harry’s unruly hair. “Harry,” He said with a sigh. “Harry, Harry, Harry. What are we going to do with you?”

“Spank, shag, and repeat.” Harry answered with a grin.

“You can bet on it.” Ivan replied solemnly. “But not for a few days, yet.”

Harry propped himself up on his elbows and opened his mouth to argue but Ivan continued.

“I’ve got other duties that take me away from here four nights a week. But when I’m here, my door will be open for you. Yes?”

“Alright,” Harry settled back down on the bed, but closer to Ivan this time. “Can I stay the night?”


	3. 3

Harry’s summer, which had started out boring and relaxing, quickly became a mad juggle of agendas. Three nights a week, he disappeared into the abyss of Ivan’s cabin when the moon was out, and didn’t emerge until late morning. Ron couldn’t bring himself to imagine what sorts of things were going on in there, but plenty of speculation was abound. It was in these afternoons that Harry was most likely to be found mucking the dragon stalls as if he was going to find redemption in the selfless act.

The other four nights a week, he bunked with Ron as usual, and tried not to be bitter about it. There was always some initial awkwardness, but their longstanding friendship allowed them to get over it quickly. Charlie and a few other trainers, Ivan included, had started engaging the boys more and more in their dragon training activities, giving them something to do, other than lounge about during the daylight hours.

Of course, the boys did their fair share of adventuring too. Some days, they would pack a haversack full of vittles and hike into the forest surrounding the dragon camp. They had found a clearing that held a pool from an underground spring, and though it was cold, had taken off for swimming on a few occasions. Other days, they might apparate into Bucharest and spend the afternoon shopping and snacking, and playing at picking up girls, despite the fact that neither of them spoke the native language, and one of them clearly wasn’t interested in that type of sport.

 

Today, they had gone hiking again, probably for one of the last times this summer. 

“Harry,” Ron sighed and flopped down on a flat grey rock in the sun by the water’s edge. “There’s only a month until auror training begins. Maybe we ought to think about packing up, getting back. Mum will kill us if we don’t spend at least a week at The Burrow before taking off again. And ‘Mione.” He pressed his hands to his temples. “I can hear her now.”

Then Ron nudged Harry’s arm. “Besides, you’ve been lucky, shagging all summer. Me? I’ve just been rubbing ‘em out, one after another…”

“Ron!” Harry said, wanting to stick his fingers in his ears.

Ron grinned. “Sorry, mate. But I meant it, yeah? When do you want to go back?”

A sudden silence fell over the clearing as Harry looked to his shoes, rubbing the sole of one against the rocks with vigor.

“Harry?”

“I don’t want to go back, Ron.” There, he’d mustered up the strength and said it.

“Well, hell, Harry. It’s been bloody swell, and if it weren’t for Hermione, maybe I’d be alright with staying on a bit longer, but I miss Mum’s cooking. And civilization. And not waking up to the smell of dragon shite baking in the sun. Besides, we’ve got the Auror Academy to look forward to.”

“I don’t want to be an auror.” Harry murmured crassly.

Ron gaped at him. “Little late for that now, isn’t it? Change your mind, did you? What exactly did you think you were going to do with your life? How’re you going to pay your bills?”

Harry looked at him pointedly. He didn’t like to flaunt his wealth in his friend’s faces, but when it came right down to things, if Harry wanted to, he could easily spend the rest of his life touring and sight seeing without a care in the world.

“Oh, right.” Ron said miserably. “Well, some of us aren’t so lucky. Did you talk to Charlie about staying on?”

A shake of brown, unruly hair confirmed Ron’s suspicion. 

“Ivan then, no doubt.”

Harry shook his head again. He hadn’t brought the idea up to anyone. Wasn’t even sure he was going to face it up until this moment.

“Well, hell, mate. You’re not leaving yourself much time for planning, are you?”

“I like to fly by the seat of my pants,” Harry grinned then.

Ron looked confused. “Is there another way?”

Harry had to laugh at him. “It’s a Muggle saying. Means living spontaneously.”

“Well, fly this!” Ron climbed to his feet, hauled his shirt off over his head, and threw it into Harry’s face, where the sweaty garment became entangled around his head. While Harry was trying to wrestle his way out of it, he heard Ron splash into the pool. He dove in once he managed to free himself, taking the shirt along with him. Once he finally caught up to Ron, he wrapped the wet fabric around his friend’s face and dunked him under the surface, laughing.

 

 

“Something bothering you, Harry?” Ivan pulled back from the young man, holding him at arms length to examine him at the edge of the bed where they’d been perched, engaging in their thrice-weekly engagements.

Harry started to shake his head, but then exploded, “I want to stay!”

“The night?” Ivan’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “Of course you can. You always are welcome to stay, you know that.”

“No.” Harry shook his head again and looked toward the wall. “I want to stay in Romania. I don’t want to go back to London.”

“So what’s the problem?” Ivan looked confused.

“I’m supposed to start Auror training in three weeks.”

“Well…” Ivan began to muse.

“I don’t want to do that anymore!” Harry snapped.

“So, what do you want to do then?”

“I don’t know. Nothing feels right.” Harry sighed heavily.

“Nothing?” Ivan prodded.

“Well, not nothing.” Harry grumbled.

“Something then.” Ivan’s eyes twinkled with humor. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a career choice.”

“Well, what is it?”

Harry spread his hands, his face and ears starting to turn pink. “Erm, this, I suppose.”

“This? What, talking? There’s plenty of counselor positions out there, advisors, politics…”

Harry shook his head vehemently. “No! I mean…well. The things you and I do. That feels right. Good.”

Ivan tried not to laugh at Harry. “So you want to be a prostitute then? You’re right. It’s not exactly a career choice. Although, with your name, you could easily be the highest paid call-wizard in the Eastern hemisphere.”

“No!” Harry protested again. “I mean, not exactly. I mean, I like being told what to do. I mean, it would be easier if someone else could just tell me what to do. I mean…” He was red-faced and flustered. 

“What exactly do you mean?”

“I mean, that night, in Constanta, when you said some people like playing at owning and being owned…” Harry’s voice trailed off and he became very quiet.

Ivan turned Harry’s face toward him. “Yes?”

“WellIWantToDoThat.” The sentence came out as one rushed word, and Harry’s face burned afterward. He lowered his eyes and couldn’t meet Ivan’s gaze.

“You want someone to take care of you.” Ivan offered plainly. “Well, that’s not so different, Harry.”

Green eyes snapped up, flashing. “I want to be a slave.”

Ivan’s meaty hand came up and caressed Harry’s cheek gently. He still thought Harry was too young for the things they’d done, and clearly it was having an impression on him. “You want to crawl on your hands and knees to win approval?”

“Yes.”

“Be spanked or flogged on a whim?”

“Yes.”

“Punished harshly for minor infractions, forced to entertain someone or a group of people at the expense of your dignity, be stripped of your magic and forced to perform menial tasks?”

Harry’s chest was heaving gently and his eyes had flickered downward again. He whispered, “Yes.”

“Harry, look at me when you say that. Tell me you really want to be treated like property and not a human being.”

He lifted his chin brazenly, and locked his gaze with Ivan’s. “I want to be a slave. I want to be your slave. But if I can’t be yours, someone else’s.”

“Harry…” Ivan sighed heavily, weighing his next words carefully.

“It’s what I want, don’t tell me I don’t! I’m not too young! I wasn’t too young for you! I’ll find someone else who’ll have me!” Harry flustered Ivan away and jumped up from the mattress, his hands clenching.

Ivan said something in Romanian, then pointed at the mattress. “Sit down, now!” He commanded it in a stern voice.

Harry immediately dropped his rump onto the mattress and clamped his mouth shut.

“First of all, I can only imagine the number of people who would want you, who would jump at the chance of having you. Second of all, you are young. But this is clearly something inside of you that you feel you need to do. Finally, what I was going to say before you jumped to conclusions…well, I was going to ask you if you knew what I do, those nights I’m not here…”

Harry blinked slowly. “I…” after thinking about it a moment, he shook his head. “No. I don’t know. I guess I thought you had night duty with the dragons or some-other. Er, what do you do?”

“In Constanta, there is…hmmm…there is a training school for people such as yourself.”

“A school?!” Harry interrupted, his mind already going a kilometer a minute.

“A program. To prepare one for servitude. Stay with me, Harry.”

Harry had to focus his eyes back on Ivan and stop day dreaming about attending this academy when he didn’t even know the details yet.

“To prepare you to serve someone in all capacities. I work there. I…train there.”

“So you could get me in then!” Harry gushed with excitement.

“Calm down. You can get in on your own. The thing is…well. Hmmm…how do you say…alright. They will sell you at the end of term to the highest bidder. You sign a binding contract for one to three years. Your wand will be stripped from you. You will be bound and unable to perform magic for the duration of your servitude. You will be subjected to every whim of your Master, save death. Harry, this is serious business.”

The pupils of Harry’s eyes were so dilated that only a thin rim of green could be seen around the wide black circles. His eyes darted back and forth as he formulated his next sentence. Blinking, he said, “Ivan. Ivan, you have to take me there. Please. I’m begging you.” He shifted off the bed and started onto his knees. “Please, I want this more than anything.”

Ivan took Harry by the upper arm and pulled him to his feet. “Get up. There is much to think about. Maybe you should go…”

“No!” Harry straddled Ivan’s lap and wrapped his arms around the man’s broad shoulders. “Don’t make me go!” He pleaded. “Let me show you I can do this. Let me show you I’m meant for this! Ivan, please.” He ground his hips in a slow circle, rubbing his erect penis against Ivan’s stomach. “I’ll do anything you say…”

Ivan pulled Harry more firmly against him, grunting. “You’re going to do that anyway…"


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t believe you’re not coming,” Ron grumbled, stuffing more of the trinkets they’d bought in Bucharest into his trunk.

In the bunk next to him, Harry sat with his elbows propped on his knees, chin in hands. “Ron, we’ve been over this. It’s nothing personal. I just…I can’t. I don’t want to be that person anymore. I don’t want to be the savior of the world. I’ve had it up to the eyeballs with responsibility. Maybe things will change in a few years, but until then, there’s other things I’ve got to do.”

Ron scowled. “Like what? You still haven’t told me your grand plans. Or even where you’re staying. Mum will want to send a howler.”

“Like I want to receive one of those…” Harry snorted. “The thing is, Ron. I’m still not sure. I’m going to stay on a few more days with Ivan and go from there. One thing is for certain though, I’ll not be coming back to London any time soon…”

“Could you…?” Ron huffed, leaning all his weight on the lid of his trunk.

Harry flicked his wand at the bulging contents, using a simple organizational and compaction charm to condense Ron’s items neatly so the lid would close. Then he looked down at his wand almost forlornly. It was hard to imagine giving this up; giving up magic when he’d only so recently taken it on. But what had his life been with magic, anyway? A load of adventure, sure. But a lot of problems and responsibility as well. Defeating the Dark Lord had forced him to grow up too quickly. Sometimes he wondered how life would have panned out without Hogwarts. 

Seven more years of hell with the Dursley’s, and then he’d have been kicked out on his keister to survive on his own on the streets, penniless, no doubt. Yes, magic had benefited him in more ways than one. But what would it be like to live without it for a year? Two? And when he had his wand back, would he want it? Would he even remember how to use it? Was it like riding a bicycle, as they say? Or was magic different, use it or lose it?

“Harry!” Ron’s urgent voice knocked him back to reality.

“Sorry. What? Oh.”

“I packed the bloody port key!” Ron lamented, tearing open his trunk and rifling through it again. “Accio Portkey!” 

When that didn’t work, Harry suggested, “Try ‘tin of tuna’.”

“Accio tin of tuna!” This time, there was a great rumble, and personal belongings went flying everywhere as the tin can worked it’s way up from the bottom of the trunk.

“Oy, Ron!” Harry peeled a pair of white briefs off the top of his head and hurled them at his friend. 

Ron picked them up sheepishly and crammed it back into his trunk. “You wouldn’t want to show me how to do that spell again, would you?”

 

 

************

 

“Take the port key, Harry.” Charlie commanded, with his arms folded across his chest.

Harry sighed. “I told you both, I’m not going back to London. I’m going to stay a few nights in Bucharest, with a map, and figure out where else I want to visit.” Harry felt odd telling this necessary lie, but he couldn’t very well go on and tell the Weasley’s he’d signed himself up for Slave Academy, now could he? “I only came to see Ron off.” He nodded at Ron, who was holding the can of tuna like a prized possession. “Give my best to your parents, and Hermione, and…well, everyone really. I’m not sure when I’ll get a chance to owl. But really. I’m looking forward to this. And I…”

Charlie moved forward and grabbed Harry’s hand, then tried to make him touch the port key. There was a resulting scuffle that ended with Ron being sucked into the port key without another word, and Charlie and Harry lying on the ground, panting.

“See what you’ve gone and done?” Charlie scowled at Harry, and he glowered in return.

 

*************

 

 

“Charlie has gone completely mad…” Harry complained as he sat in Ivan’s cabin, waiting for the man to ready himself. He reiterated the morning’s tribulations while Ivan dressed.

“He’s only worried about you, Harry.” Ivan said, drawing a wide strip of silk out of his pants pocket. “And rightfully so, I daresay.” The olive-skinned man stepped behind Harry and began to wind the fabric around his head, over his eyes. “Too tight?”

“No.” Harry shook his head slightly. “What’s this for, again?”

“The location in Constanta is a secret. You can never know where you will be taken. Any time you are removed from or brought to the premises, you must be blind-folded. It’s to insure privacy and protection from persecution.”

“Oh.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Ivan took Harry by the arm and side-alonged him to the building in Constanta that would serve as Harry’s new home for the next year. Once they were inside, Ivan greeted someone in Romanian, carrying on a brief conversation. Then he tugged Harry through several doors and check points before removing the blindfold.

Harry blinked carefully into the light, and though it was dim, had to squint. He thought he saw a goblin sitting at a desk in the middle of an otherwise empty room, but it must be his eyes, still adjusting to the light. Goblins only worked at Gringott’s, didn’t they?

Ivan pushed Harry into the middle of the room, beside the desk, then moved off to the side, indicating that Harry should stand still. He commented to the Goblin in Romanian, before repeating to Harry in English, “I told him that you don’t speak Romanian.”

Harry drew himself up, trying not to ogle the Goblin, who climbed onto his desk and pointed a light directly into Harry’s face.

“Stand still, Harry, and open your eyes. He’s got to examine you, make sure you’re not under the Imperius.” Ivan warned.

“What would I be under the Imperius curse for?” Harry asked as he forced his eyes open.

“Sometimes unwilling subjects are brought by head-hunters and passed off as willing trainees. The head hunters take a fee in return, and we still profit from the return-sale.

Harry’s mouth fell open as he whirled to look at Ivan. “What Charlie said was true then! People do get kidnapped in Constanta and are never seen again!”

“Stand still, Harry! Don’t make me tell you again!” Ivan snapped, just as the goblin expelled a long breath of exasperation and prodded Harry’s middle with a long finger.

Harry squeaked in surprise, and the goblin nodded, the hopped down off his desk. He settled behind it again and drew a quill from one of the desk drawers, along with a parchment. “Name?” it growled.

“Harry Potter.” Harry snapped back to attention, forgetting his previous train of thought now that the admissions process had begun.

“The boy who lived?” The goblin rasped.

“The very same.” Ivan affirmed for him.

The goblin scribbled something down.

“You enter into this agreement willingly?”

“I do.”

“Wand.” He held his hand out to receive it.

Harry paused, stammering, “My-my wand?” He drew it out of his pocket and eyed it, pausing to caress the length fondly.

“Ivan!” The goblin barked, then growled in Romanian. 

There was a brief exchange of words, and Ivan moved to Harry’s side. He took his arm gently. “We talked about this, you remember, of course? I said you would have to give up your wand, unable to perform magic. You agreed that it was reasonable…”

“I…yes…only…” Harry frowned. “I didn’t realize I was going to have to give it up now. I thought when I took on an owner…”

“The transition from training to being owned is meant to be minimal, Harry. You cannot perform magic here as a trainee. You must be willing to give it up now. Are you having second thoughts?”

“I…no. Of course not.” Harry turned the end of his wand outward and placed it in the goblin’s gnarled palm. “Sorry.”

The goblin accepted the wand, placed it gently inside a carved box lined with velvet, then snapped the lid shut. There was an audible click as the box locked itself. “Clothes.” It said simply, staring pointedly at Harry.

“Er, here?” Harry fingered the hem of his shirt, and Ivan nodded at him. Harry undressed slowly, and Ivan folded each garment carefully before presenting the pile to the goblin. It took them, along with the wand, and moved to an area of the wall paved with flagstones. One of the stones moved aside, revealing a hollowed area, and harry’s items were placed inside. Once the flagstone moved back into place, there was a flash of light, and Harry could read, if he squinted, his own name in tiny, gold script in the center of it.

Harry shifted with discomfort in the chilly room, suddenly entirely too aware of his own nakedness.

“Sign here,” the goblin instructed.

Harry had to release one hand from the front of himself in order to grasp the quill. He signed his name hurriedly and returned the feather to the desk top.

The goblin nodded at Ivan, then filed the paperwork and quill away. Ivan took Harry by the upper arm and guided him through another door. “Fitting room,” Ivan explained.

Harry nodded once, to affirm he’d heard. But he was busy examining his surroundings with wide eyes. He felt as though he’d walked through the door to another planet. He was surrounded by items of “clothing” that he’d never seen before, and couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d wear them. Strips of leather that looked something like suspenders, but attached to themselves with other strips of leather and decorated with metal rings…turned out to be a harness, the first thing he was fitted with. Ivan pulled the straps snug across his chest, back, and abdomen.

“To lead you with, Harry.” Ivan beamed but Harry was starting to feel a little sick; He wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs and offered a weak smile. 

There were collars and boots, and a strange sleeve that both of his arms went in to behind his back, then laced together tightly. Fitted leather pants and a vest, for the occasions when he was taken into public, Harry was told. Blacked out goggles to blind him, a collar and wrist and ankle bindings….

And then the “toys”. But those were more like torture devices. Harry never had any notion that so many things could exist to cause discomfort and self awareness, and he never imagined he’d see so many and try them out, all on one night. He found his mouth first stretched to capacity by a self-fitting ball gag, and then filled to the brim by a magically growing gag shaped like a man’s cock. Some things Ivan didn’t both to “fit” him with, per se, just held them up in assessment, then tossed them into a trunk that had been collecting Harry’s “new wardrobe”; like odd little clips that Ivan told him were nipple clamps.

Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest and he was beginning to feel weak in the knees by the time Ivan told him they were finished. The night was young and already he felt stripped of his possessions and his dignity. Ivan sent the trunk off to “the quarters”, and took hold of Harry again, who despite all of his wardrobe changes, wore only the first thing Ivan had placed on him.

“This will be like a second skin for you.” Ivan said, looping one finger through a metal ring placed between Harry’s collarbones, and tugging him easily this way and that. “You see how effective this is?”

Harry was busy having second and third thoughts by then, and didn’t even hear Ivan beyond the screaming chant in his own head of “It’s too late, too late, too late! Can’t turn back! You wanted this! In over your head! Magic can’t save you!”

“Harry!” Ivan said sharply.

The younger man jolted, then looked askance at the older man he’d trusted and let bring him here. His eyes betrayed him. He looked like wounded animal.

“Harry, are you alright?” Ivan’s tone was softer this time, and laced with concern.

“I’m scared!” Harry blurted before he could stop himself. He immediately regretted it, because he thought it made him sound foolish. Young. Too young for something like this. 

“Oh, Harry.” Ivan sighed and pulled the man against his chest, petting him affectionately. “You’re supposed to be scared right now. You’d be some kind of nutter if you weren’t.”

Once Harry calmed some, Ivan took lead again and brought him into a darkened area that seemed like an indoor cave. It was populated with other trainers and slaves, and Harry shrank self-consciously behind Ivan, who was explaining that this area was a communal training field where Harry would spend a lot of his time learning with other “trainees”, as he called them. 

Ivan eventually led him into a line of other like-paired individuals. “You’ve had a long night,” he sympathized. “Just this one little thing, something you’re familiar with, and then I’ll show you to the room you’ll stay in.”

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he stood on tip toe to try and figure out what “this one little thing” could possibly be. He made out a stage…two men…a paddle. Suddenly, his feet backpedaled, and he felt his back crash into Ivan’s chest. He turned and planted his face into it. “I don’t want to do this!” He suddenly knew the very activity that had intrigued him from the start was something he was incapable of doing. A private spanking in Ivan’s quarters he could handle, but a public spanking? No. Not now.

“No one here goes to bed without a warmed bottom.” Ivan turned Harry around rather cruelly and forced him forward in line to fill the gap that had formed between them and the couple in front of them. “I tried to tell you… but you were insistent, so now you face your decision like a man. Stand up straight. Don’t make me spank you in line before we even make it to the stage…”

Harry balked and earned himself a stinging swat to the bottom that wounded only his pride. After that, he drew up and forced himself forward each time the line moved. By the time they reached the platform, Harry had chewed his lower lip raw. Ivan had never used more than an open palm on him, and the man was testing a variety of paddles against his own palm.

Being on stage was worse than orating a report in potions class. Harry’s heart sank into his stomach, and then the whole conglomeration took a roller coaster ride to his knees. When Ivan forced him to bend over something that looked like a leather saddle, and bare his arse to the crowd, Harry nearly threw up. 

But then the paddling started and Ivan had been right. There was some familiarity in the act, even if it wasn’t carried out as tenderly as Harry had received in the past. Ivan forced groan after groan out of him until Harry’s bottom smarted and displayed overlapping arcs from the edge of the round paddle he’d been using. The crowd of assembled people seemed disappointed that Ivan stopped so soon after he started, but when he turned Harry around to face them, putting his erect and weeping cock on display, there was laughter and cheers.

Harry’s face, already as red as his bottom, turned nearly purple. His hands were inching around to the front of himself when he heard Ivan’s voice in his ear.

“Don’t you dare think of covering yourself up in this place. Not now, or ever. I’ll bend you right back over and keep going with the paddle…”

The young man’s hands snapped back to his sides and Ivan led him down the stairs on the other side of the platform murmuring about what a ‘good boy’ Harry had been.

Harry’s room was a communal one, and there was the offensive trunk, open at the base of his bed to remind him of it’s contents and their earlier tribulations. Harry did his best to ignore it, and soon forgot it in fact, when Ivan pushed him down on the bed and began to kiss and fondle him. Oh, yes. This was the part of it that Harry liked…he’d just started to writhe on the coverlet and pant when Ivan drew away, jerking the bedclothes from underneath Harry’s body, then drawing them up over him. He tucked the man in tightly, and planted a fatherly kiss in the middle of his forehead.

“Wait? Where are you going?” Harry clutched at him, arching his body, rubbing his erection against the sheets. “You forgot something!”

Ivan chuckled and shook his head. “Settle down now, Harry.” His broad hands pushed the young man flat against the mattress. “There’s policies to adhere to…no release for you for the first few days yet…” He leant over and kissed the side of his neck, just below his ear, sensually, and drawing another groan from him. Harry’s hips shot upward again. “If you bring yourself off, accidentally or otherwise, you will be punished severely…”

Harry sank back down against the mattress, chewing his tender lower lip again, and scowled. Ivan laughed at him and then took his leave.

A whisper broke across the silence, and Harry was startled again. He’d forgotten they weren’t alone, and his actions shamed him.

“Ivan’s the worst!” The voice said. “You’re never going to get a good night’s sleep if he’s training you…”

Despite himself, Harry turned on his side, squinting into the darkness. “What do you know?”

“Shhhhh!"


	5. 5

A/N: in this version, Harry was 18 when he graduated from Hogwarts, which means that he would have turned 19 during the summer in Romania.

 

 

Harry managed to drag a small amount of information out of his bunk mate in hushed tones before they were warned by another man to shut it. He learned that the man’s name was Jeshua, that he was twenty-three, and had been here for two months. All ten blokes in this room had checked themselves in, but many of the so-called trainees were brought by head hunters. They were roomed together somewhere else, because they had to be restrained most of the time, lest they try to escape.

It was hard for Harry to sleep, and he forced himself to stay awake a long time, willing his erection away, and hoping that he wouldn’t wake to dirtied sheets. What happened while he was sleeping wasn’t his fault, but he wasn’t exactly sure anyone else would see it that way. After a few hours of uneasy rest, Harry came awake as his body was tumbled off his cot and onto the floor.

He sat there, disoriented until a rough hand took him by the arm and jerked him to his feet. He found himself face to face with another dark-haired, black eyed man, barking at him in Romanian. He was wearing close fitting black leather pants, and a hefty paddle dangled from his waist. Despite the frantic gesturing and verbiage, Harry could only shake his head. He didn’t understand a word that was said to him.

“El nu stie romaneste!” The man who could only be Jeshua leaned forward from his ramrod straight position at the end of his bed, beside a trunk similar to Harry’s and addressed the trainer. It sounded similar to what Ivan had said to the Goblin the night before about only speaking English, and Harry assumed the man was coming to his aid.

The angry Romanian crossed to Jeshua, the fingers and thumb of one hand digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks, forcing his jaws apart, until the man was wincing. He said something in a low, guttural growl, and didn’t let go until Jeshua shook his head to indicate that he understood. He snapped another order, loudly, then turned on his heel and strode away.

Harry didn’t bother turning his head, but whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Thanks.”

Jeshua replied with the barest nod of his own chestnut haired head, though his eyes didn’t so much as stray from their focal point somewhere ahead of him. 

Harry followed his postural cue and straightened himself, then positioned his hands behind his back, hands clutching the opposite elbows. He didn’t maintain this stance for long, however.

The first Romanian returned with another, and directed the group again in foreign tongue, gesturing to the taller blond haired man. Then he stalked closer to Harry, took a fistful of the hair at the top of his head, and walked away. Harry had a moment to decide whether to dig in his heels in protest, or to trot hurriedly after the man whose name he didn’t even know. He chose the latter, and wisely so.

In a small, private room, the man flung his arm, and Harry went along with it, sprawling onto the floor.

“ Ingenuncheaza!” He commanded immediately.

Harry was at a loss, and scrambled to his feet, starting to assume his previous position.

“Nnnno!” He gave a curt shake of his head, and accompanied the motion by cuffing the backside of Harry’s head, as if he had done something incredibly moronic.

“Ingenuncheaza!” he repeated again, and pushed heavily on Harry’s shoulders until he sank with the pressure and onto his knees.

“Da. Ingenuncheaza.” He rearranged Harry so that he was kneeling, sitting on his heels, then clasped his hands behind his back as before. He lifted the young man’s chin, and Harry looked up at him, eliciting a scowl and another cuff to the head. The trainer pushed Harry’s head down, then pulled his chin up again, several times, but Harry didn’t know what that meant.

“Fie subordonat!” The Romanian commanded in exasperation and pointed his finger toward the floor. When Harry’s gaze traveled downward, he earned himself a squeeze on the shoulder and a ruffle of his hair. “Da! Buna.”

From his experience with Ivan, Harry knew that ‘da’ meant yes. And now, he knew that ‘ingenuncheaza’ meant that he should assume this kneeling position with his head up and his eyes lowered.

And so his morning went, until he was familiar with simple positional commands; kneel, stand, lay down, on hands and knees….his neck was sore from being manually repositioned time and again, and he was sure that his arse had more than a few welts on it from the paddle. His thighs ached from the aerobic exercise he’d gotten from switching positions back and forth, over and over, until the trainer was sure he could follow a directive in Romanian.

Harry lunched with the others, but no one was conversing and he made sure to follow their cues. After, he was taken from the group again and brought to another area of the building where he was left with several blokes who seemed to have the job of grooming. Harry was left to use the toilet, then he was showered and shaved. Each time he reached for the soap, or tried to rinse himself clean, first his hands were swatted, and then his arse.

“Stand still, you stubborn bastard!” one of the grooms muttered to himself.

“You speak English?” Harry said in a stage whisper. “You have to tell me-“

“Shut it!” The groom hissed between his teeth. “Before you get the both of us flogged!” 

Another flogging was not what Harry wanted at this point. He didn’t want to be spanked by anyone but Ivan, and he wasn’t likely to show up until much later in the evening, if he did so at all. And after his conversation with Jesh, it was clear that Ivan worked with others as well. He wasn’t likely to have the man to himself for a long time.

In the afternoon, he was deposited in a small corralled area with a handful of other men who seemed to take the liberty of relaxing. Some were napping, and others stretched lazily on their stomachs, engaged in quiet conversation.

“Behave yourself!” Harry’s groom, whose name he learned was Cristof, instructed in a fierce whisper, pinching the inside of Harry’s arm tightly. “You’re already earning yourself an unwanted reputation for being difficult. You had better watch out that you’re not transferred to the other lot where they’ll chain your arse for twenty hours a day…”

Harry swallowed thickly and shook his head. No, that didn’t sound appealing at all. In fact, the whole premise of being here was losing its luster rather quickly. Cristof deposited him with the others, nodding to one of the trainers who sat nearby, supervising the group of them.

No one seemed to pay much attention as Harry took himself to a lone spot and settled down on the floor, cross-legged. He was just starting to doze when he heard a soft, “Hey,” beside him.

His body jerked slightly, and he opened his eyes, then smiled at the familiar face. It was Jeshua. He was lowering himself onto his stomach and grimaced over at Harry.

“Just you wait, by the end of the week, you won’t be able to sit down either. You missed the morning spanking, didn’t you? I bet you’ll get it twice as bad tonight.”

Harry blanched and his new friend offered a brilliant smile. 

“Oh, come off it.” Jesh instructed. “You like it, or you wouldn’t be here. None of us would.”

By dinner time, Harry had learned that the man he’d spent the morning with was named Mikal, and though he had a temper, was actually a very good, and thorough trainer. Jeshua had been told that he was in charge of making Harry fluent in Romanian and catching him up to speed so that he didn’t make a fool of himself. 

His future daily routine was to wake up and be taken to the stage for a morning spank amongst his peers. Breakfast would follow, and after that, training and exercises to keep everyone limber and healthy. They would be broken into smaller groups for grooming, recreation, and lunch, in whatever order the trainers decided on. The recreation period was more like a recovery period where one could regain a bit of calm before the evening. In the beginning, Jesh explained, there was to be more training then, working with various men who would teach him to be a more eager and pleasing slave, both in the bedroom, and in general. Later, they might be taken out in the evenings to dinner parties and clubs and celebrations, as the organization also took the liberty of charging rental fees for providing “live entertainment”.

Jeshua seemed surprised by Harry’s look of confusion. “Didn’t Ivan prepare you before he brought you here? I knew far in advance what was expected of me before I signed up.”

Harry shook his head. “He didn’t tell me much, really, but I didn’t ask either. I don’t know…I guess I just assumed…”

“You’re so young!” the other man interrupted. “What are you, seventeen?”

“Nineteen.” Harry grumbled, looking away. “What does it matter, anyway?”

“I guess it doesn’t, only that you’re so naïve about the whole thing…”

Harry scowled and started to argue, but Jesh held up his hands in defeat. “I wasn’t trying to get you going. I only meant to tell you that it’s better to do what they tell you without a fight. I’m sure that’s what you intended anyhow…” 

 

 

Ivan didn’t show that night, and it put Harry in a terrible funk to be spanked by someone else. Mikal came to take him to the platform, and Jeshua had been right in his earlier assessment. Denial of the morning session resulted in a blistering round with the paddle that lasted longer than Harry had ever gone before.

When the stinging swats became truly painful, Harry found himself vocalizing his opposition. “Ow! Ouch!” and “I said, you’re hurting me!” The spanking immediately stopped the moment Harry released his grip on the bench he was bent over and covered his raw bottom with his hands. At first, he thought the language barrier had prevented the man from understanding he’d had enough, but he’d managed to convey it. However, he soon realized his grievous mistake when his wrists were buckled to his ankles and the flogging continued more vigorously. 

Harry’s hair was damp with sweat and the tears that had traveled past his eyebrows and across his forehead. When they finally released him, his legs were quivering, and he reeled from being suddenly righted after having blood pool to his head for so long. His penis, when put on display again, was only half erect this time, and Mikal tsk-tsked before bouncing the underside of it with his paddle. 

Someone in the audience caught Harry’s eyes and licked his lips lasciviously. To Harry’s chagrin, he felt himself hardening and lengthening again, drawing more laughter and appreciation from the voyeuristic group below. Mikal himself chuckled and gave a final swat to Harry’s backside, drawing out a yelp of surprise before he was rushed down the stairs to make room for the next slave.

This time, he was pushed into the crowd of people to stand and watch the other’s take their licks. As he fisted the remaining tears from his eyes, he could feel the skin or his arse smarting, pulsing, and when someone jostled against him, the sting rang as fresh as if he’d taken another swat with the paddle.

When he was finally taken to bed, Harry collapsed into the sheets gratefully, but had to turn onto his side to avoid the scratch of the sheets against his aching bottom. He rolled away from Jeshua and pulled the blanket over his head. Harry wasn’t in a mood to talk tonight.

 

Sometime in the early morning, Harry awoke in a panic. He’d just had the most wonderfully erotic dream that culminated in a nocturnal emission. He woke immediately, his heart thumping in his throat. He strained to see if anyone else had noticed; perhaps he had been moaning or thrashing about. But the room was dead silent. Almost too quiet.

And after a minute, Harry learned why. The sheets were spelled to sound alarm when soiled: a spell most frequently used to alert young parents as to when their newly potty-trained witches and wizards have had an accident. The heavy thump of boots echoed through the room and he found himself jerked out of bed again. He and his tattle-tale bedclothes were briskly removed to a more private location.

The trainer threw them both on the floor together, then pushed Harry’s face into the sticky sheets as if he were a dog who’d messed on the carpet. He flailed a moment, earning a barrage of open-handed swats to his still-sore bottom. The trainer berated him in Romanian and Harry could only imagine what was being said to him. Then he seemed to realize that Harry didn’t speak the language, and converted to choppy English. 

“No! Bad. Very bad, you! No permissible. Messy, bad boy.”

Under other circumstances, Harry might have laughed. But now, he could only tremble. Ivan had warned him that there would be dire consequences if he brought himself off, and now he would have to suffer them. Not even his second day, and already being punished. No wonder they had labeled him difficult.

The trainer left Harry kneeling with his head pressed to the floor in supplication, and when he returned, threw Harry’s trunk on the floor in front of him. For a moment, Harry thought he was being expelled, and he couldn’t tell whether he was overjoyed or ashamed. But then, the man was summoning items from the trunk. 

He tucked his booted foot under Harry’s chest and lifted, drawing the young man’s torso upward. Harry sat back on his heels the way he’d been taught, wincing at the throb of protest from his arsecheeks. The man held a short dildo out to Harry’s mouth, pushing it against his lips, until Harry relaxed his jaw and permitted its entrance. He still wasn’t sure what was expected of him, and his cheeks burned as he fellated the phallus. The trainer pulled it in and out, controlling the motion with his index finger, which was hooked into a metal ring at the base of the dildo. After a minute, it was withdrawn, and Harry was forced over again. He felt the spit-slicked cock breach his anus, and he gasped at the sensation. The motion as it was rocked deeper into him was neither cruel nor vicious, and his own spent prick started to twitch to life again.

The trainer buckled the phallus into the lower rings of Harry’s harness, preventing it from slipping out or being expelled. A hand in his hair pulled him up again, and the trainer’s wand flicked the tip of Harry’s penis. He groaned, and felt the prickle of magic settle over him. It was as if his dick had been padded with cotton: he was hard and growing harder by the second, but sensations felt dulled, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to come again until the spell was lifted.

Harry felt the paddle come swiftly down on his bottom, and his hole clenched around the thick rubber that was stretching it.

“You go now.” The man instructed in broken English, paddling Harry out the door on his hands and knees until they reached a lavatory just down the hallway. He scrambled as fast as he could go, trying to avoid the sting A scrub brush and a bucket of soap were provided, the former thrust into Harry’s hand roughly. “You clean. Bad boy. Very, very bad. You think, you bad. Not do again.”

Harry nodded and started to scrub to show he understood. Yes, he had been very bad. He had broken the rules and come without permission, and now he was to scrub the bathroom on his hands and knees and think about what he’d done. Then, he felt fingers in his hair, drawing him upward. The dildo inside of him was jerked roughly side to side, then in and out, as much as the fetters would allow. 

“You say, ‘Yes, Vali’ when I say you.” The rough voice puffed in his ear.

“Yes, Vali!” Harry parroted, and nearly dropped his scrub brush.

“Da, goot.” Vali dropped him back to all fours and crossed the communal bathroom to perch his weight on the edge of the sink. “You clean now, bad boy.” The corners of his mouth twitched up in amusement as Harry got to work.

Harry was no newbie when it came to menial labor. He had scrubbed the bathroom at the Dursley’s many times. Although, no one had ever come in while he was cleaning and stood over him to piss in the toilet he’d just scrubbed for the last twenty minutes. The trainer’s calves pressed against Harry’s shoulders and jostled him slightly when he shook the droplets of urine from the tip of his penis. Harry flinched away from them, and blessedly didn’t feel anything wet drip onto him.

“No good. Do again” Vali smirked, bending to hook a finger into one of the straps holding the phallus in place, and pulling up on it. Harry’s arse jerked high in the air and he mewled in protest. The man laughed and patted his rump before returning to his perch on the corner of the sink. “You give good show, maybe have breakfast today.” 

Harry started to scowl, but then remembered his manners. “Yes, Vali.”


	6. Chapter 6

As a learning tool, Mikal took Harry and Jeshua down into the dungeons, where the unwilling trainees were kept. He pointed out how they were fettered to the wall, or each other at all times, released only for grooming or good behavior. They were often struck or spanked in an effort to quell and subdue them. And some of them did change their act, although many strong-willed men fought and struggled until the very end. These men, Mikal explained with Jeshua as translator, and these types of uppity, energetic, difficult men were almost always sold to someone who had a mean streak. 

It was these types of owners alone who enjoyed the breaking of a man, the crushing of his spirit. Most other types of owners, they had little patience for this sort of nonsense. Most other owners were interested in well behaved, responsive slaves who would hit the ground running, so to speak. They went through this training group because of the reputation for high quality slaves that were consistently turned out. As they returned to the main training area, Harry was reminded that bad behavior could result him in a stint in the dungeons, if not permanent placement. It made him shudder to think of enduring the type of abuse that went on down there.

By the end of the week, Harry had turned around his act. He managed not to get himself into any more trouble, which was impressive, even to him, given that trouble had a way of seeking him out, even when he wasn’t interested. Ivan, though sympathetic to Harry’s plight, could only laugh when Harry confessed how things had gone for him the first few days.

Harry vowed to make himself the Hermione of this institution. There wasn’t much time to be had fucking off anyway, so he made a real effort to be an attentive, responsive slave. And, thanks to Jeshua, he was slowly picking up on the Romanian, which had a strong Latin root to it. If he had paid more attention in Hogwarts, given the Latin basis for most spells, he would have been able to translate more easily. Now, though, he was finding that he understood the spells he’d learned quite a bit better. Ironic, really, considering that he wouldn’t be employing any magic at all for the next two years of his life.

 

 

Ivan called Harry to his quarters one evening, and instead of getting on with the training, pushed a quill and paper over to him. “You had better write home. Ol’ Chuckie says his mother is out of her head with worry. If you don’t send an owl soon, they’ll send a search party, and no doubt Charlie will have them start with me.

Harry bit his lip and picked up the quill. It wouldn’t do to be discovered here. He could only imagine the headlines, too, if word got out. Actually, it was difficult trying to discern the catchy headlines Rita Skeeter and her autopen were capable of coming up with, but the idea that they would was the stuff nightmares were made of.

 

Dear Molly and Arthur,

 

That was as far as Harry got before his mind went blank. Ivan peered over his shoulder, then suggested, “Sorry I haven’t written in so long. I’ve been having a wonderful time touring the Mediterranean Isles….”

When Harry was finished taking down Ivan’s dictation, he paused to read what he’d penned.

 

Dear Molly and Arthur,

 

Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. I’ve been in the Mediterranean Isles, seeing the sights. The water is incredibly blue and they have some fantastic Elven wine that you’ve got to try. I hope that Ron is enjoying auror training. Please give him my best and tell him that I’m sorry I’m not there with him. Hope all is well with the rest of the family. Give my love to Hermione. I’m sure she’s quite angry at me, as I know you are. One day, I hope you can appreciate my decision to spend some time in solitude, appreciating quiet anonymity.

 

I promise I’ll write soon.

 

Love,

 

Harry

 

 

“That’s enough,” Ivan advised with a nod and rolled the parchment into a scroll, securing it with a ribbon before shoving it aside on the desk and reaching for Harry in turn. “It’s been too long, and they told me you’ve been a good boy these last few days. Picking up on the language too, no doubt, eh?”

“A little,” Harry admitted, pressing his body against Ivan’s and fingering his thick hair just above his ears. “I’m trying.”

“I know,” Ivan nuzzled him gruffly, nipping the skin of his neck just below his jaw. “Intram in pat,” The older man released his hold on Harry and waited to see what he would do.

The younger man eagerly broke away from him and scrambled up onto the bed. “This is…what you wanted, isn’t it?” Harry asked after a moment.

“Da. I want.” Ivan moved around the perimeter of the mattress, affixing Harry’s wrists and ankles to the bed posts until he was secure. Green eyes followed him, and the younger man’s pale chest was heaving slightly with each hitching breath.

Ivan slowly eased onto the foot of the bed and licked a line up Harry’s leg from his ankle to his crotch, causing him to moan and flex his hips upward. Then he reached and pinched one small nipple between his fingers tightly.

“Mmmm!” Harry hummed in satisfaction and pressed into the touch as much as his bonds would allow.

“You like?” Ivan said teasingly.

Keen to show how much he had learned, Harry nodded and panted, “Mai, mai, mai-mult!”

“More, more, more?” Ivan laughed, rolling the other nipple in his fingers then tugging it taut. “You are a fast learner, aren’t you? What an eager little beast…”

 

In the weeks and months to come, Harry proved that he was everything Ivan said and more. He quickly worked out what was expected of him, and found that once his initial trepidation and uneasiness had faded, and he picked up on the routine, he was enjoying his time here, in a way. He made acquaintances with a few other blokes, but considered Jeshua a true friend. Jesh had saved his arse more than once with his speedy translations and role-model attitude. They were often paired for group exercises, and lately had been taken out together in the evenings to social occasions. Though Harry enjoyed coupling with Jeshua, and didn’t mind being partnered with most anyone else, he still craved Ivan’s touch the most.

 

It was a bittersweet day for Harry, when Jeshua was sold into a two-year contract. He was sad to lose the only real friend he’d made here, but also excited because it meant that his own “graduation day” was just around the corner. They had promised to keep in touch. Eventually. Someday. If their masters allowed it. And if not, then afterwards.

 

“Ivan?” Harry said one evening, laying in the man’s arms after a go round. Despite his reputation as a relentless hard-ass and an unfathomable tease, Ivan had remained true to his character the way Harry had known him from the start. He didn’t make Harry ask for permission to speak, although it was clear they were no longer equals, not here.

“What is it, Harry?”

“When the time comes, I want you to buy me…” Harry didn’t mince words when it came down to the dream he’d been harboring before he even got here.

“It doesn’t work like that.” Ivan sighed. “It’s an auction. I thought you knew that. You’ll go to the highest bidder. I’m not exactly rich, even between the two jobs…”

Ah, but Harry had already worked out all the details. “What if I could guarantee that you would be able to pay, no matter what the price?”

Ivan snorted. “And how are you going to be able to do that?”

“I’ve got more money in my bank vault than I know what to do with. I haven’t even touched the piles of gold in there. I could back you, financially. Just make sure that you’re the highest bidder, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Harry!” Ivan responded incredulously. “You want to pay me to enslave you?”

“I want to be with you. I don’t care what it takes. You understand me, what I like, what I need. You take care of me and look out for me. Someone else, well that’s just the great unknown, isn’t it?” Harry didn’t think that this was the time or place to tell the older man that he thought he loved him, although his sentiments rang true.

“I thought that was what you wanted?” Ivan questioned, his arms tightening around Harry from behind.

“It’s always been about you,” Harry admitted softly. 

“If that’s what you want, Harry, I’ll buy you.” Ivan agreed.

“Vreau ca,” Harry replied in Romanian. I want it.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry had been standing for nearly an hour now. He had been taken to a holding area with nine other men. His hands were trussed together behind his back and he’d been blindfolded. Since then, no one had spoken to them, other than to utter a sharp reprieve toward ungainly postures.

The tension was thick in the air, and the bodies, nearly shoulder to shoulder, reverberated against one another as taut and strained muscles gave way to nervous and excited quaking. Harry thought back to the early morning, when Ivan had come for him and offered a quill and parchment. This contract was the selling agreement, and it was to be signed blindly by the slave to be up front, and would later be filled out in its entirety by the buyer. By the Master.

I solemnly swear… the document began, and Harry couldn’t help thinking, ‘That I am up to no good…’ He almost laughed aloud with fond memories of the Marauder’s map. Just after graduation, he’d tried to return the document to Fred and George, but they said he should have found someone to pass it on to. It was still packed in his school trunk back at the Grimmauld place. When he would see any of his familiar world again was uncertain.

Ivan had presented him with the contract and indicated the space Harry was to fill in with the desired number of years of service that he wished to fulfill; one year was the minimum, and three the maximum.

“I might recommend a single year for someone your age,” Ivan said with his thumb on the space. “You’re young yet, and ought not to waste your youth with games like these.”

Then another trainer knocked on the door, and Ivan got up. He pointed at the line Harry was to sign when he was finished. Harry spent a moment staring at the first blank he was to fill. This year had flown by, and no doubt the next would as well, especially with Ivan. Ivan. How dare he fling Harry’s youth in his face yet again? Well. He’d show him what kind of commitment he was willing to make. Prove he was serious about this whole slavery business once and for all. He drew a careful “3” in the space, the bottom of his quill jerking a bit and leaving a long tail after the last hump.

Ivan stuck his head back in the door. “Harry, something’s come up. I’ve got to go. Sign the contract and leave it on my desk, then take yourself to the training arena to wait with the others. We’ll come for you when we’re ready.

“Yes, Ivan.” Harry said softly and nodded, then turned his attention back to that long line. He hesitated only a moment longer, then penned his full name. Harry James Potter.

There. It was done. He’d signed over another three years of his life to this slavery business, but it was more than that. It was three years of sexual excitement and fulfillment with Ivan. It was proving his devotion to the man who’d already spent more than a year looking after him, teaching him, and loving him time and again. He was going to stay here, of course, but in Ivan’s private quarters instead of the shared bunk-room. He would work as a groom when Ivan wasn’t here, and his personal slave when he was. Everything was going to work out perfectly, and he couldn’t be happier. Forget magic and all the perks that went with it. Who needed magic when one was perfectly happy without it?

Harry pushed the parchment into the corner of the desk and carefully placed the quill away from it, lest it should leak and soil his binding agreement. With a giddy, lightheaded feeling, he got up from the desk and crossed the room to let himself out.

 

Suddenly, there came the sound of footsteps and muffled voices, and it seemed like they were in the room just beyond the one the slaves were standing in now. Harry shivered in anticipation. Even though he knew he would be bought ultimately by Ivan, the inspection period thrilled him on some level. He would be examined by any number of would-be buyers. Their eyes and hands on him, and he wouldn’t even know who they were, thanks to the blindfold. His cock began to stir at the deviant thought. The man standing next to Harry began to chatter his teeth loudly, and Harry felt a momentary pang of sorrow for him, but then he heard the door click open, and he pulled his shoulders higher and further back, straightening his chin with pride. This was it, his moment of glory if there was to be one.

A heavy footfall traversed the room slowly. It moved up and down the entire line of men, then back again. Harry heard a sound like a squeal, followed by a short, deep laugh, and frowned. What was going on? Then he felt a vice-like grip clamp down on his nipples and pull hard. His low gasp of surprise turned into a moan, and his hips shot forward involuntarily. He heard and amused chuckle and felt his cheek patted, almost fondly, before he was pushed back into place and the foot steps continued.

When that buyer exited, another was allowed in. The sharp click of his boot heels echoed distinctly. Heel-toe, heel-toe, they slapped down in a slow saunter. Harry had just felt the breeze of the body moving past him when he heard a derisive snort. The boots returned to stand just in front of him and he felt his head jerked back, then a thump pressing hard into his forehead, tracing the scar.

 

When Draco entered the room, he saw the usual line up of men, their features made less distinct by the bug-eyed goggles the trainers always put on them. Despite this, he was determined to pick the one with the best features. This was the first time he’d come to Romania, slave hunting without his father. Lucius had always been the one to indicate interest in several slaves, although he would let Draco pick his own after he’d turned fifteen. After all, they would only be his throughout the summer and on school breaks, and in the meantime, Draco’s father would do with them what he pleased. He strolled slowly past the lot, steely eyes flickering up and down in assessment. He had a penchant for dark-haired, olive-skinned gypsy boys, and he hoped there was one to suit his fancy. Unfortunately, too many of them were paled from their time in training, though no doubt some time in the gardens at Malfoy Manner would improve their complexion….Sweet Salazar Slytherin. Draco’s feet came to a sudden halt and he turned on his heel.

Was that Harry Potter? He snorted to himself. No. It couldn’t be, wouldn’t be. The golden boy, enslaved in Romania? Though rumor had it he hadn’t been seen since Hogwarts graduation. How bloody priceless would that be? Though chances were slim, Draco felt the need to investigate. That sodding scar, was it there? He took a handful of dark hair and jerked the head back as far as it would go. There, plain as day. A lightning bolt-shaped scar. That bloody thing had been the bane of his existence. A slow smile quirked the corners of his lips. It was Harry Potter. He thumbed the scar as his mind raced ahead of him. No doubt remained, though he turned the man’s head side to side, examining his features a bit longer. Yes.

“Mikal!” He snapped to get the man’s attention. “Aceasta una, rapiti?” This one, kidnapped? His accent was nearly perfect, as he’d been fluent in Romanian since a young age. His father and his grandfather both, had been exporting slaves from here for decades.

There was a rustle of papers. “Nu…dispus.” No, willing. Mikal crossed and handed the contract Harry had signed when he first entered the academy to Draco for examination. The young blond man screened it quickly, and his grin widened. Well, whaddyouknow? Harry Potter, the boy who lived, savior of the universe liked being dominated? So much so that he was willing to sell himself into slavery? Had Draco known this at Hogwarts, he might have taken a different spin on his hatred for his school mate. No matter. He could have his revenge now, if he wanted.

Draco trailed his fingers over Harry’s cheek, touching his lips gently. He was surprised when the tip of a warm tongue grazed his forefinger. With sudden deliberation, he pushed all four of his fingers into the man’s mouth.

 

Harry was surprised by the sudden intrusion of digits into his mouth, but after a stunned moment, he did what any well trained subordinate would- he laved and sucked the fingers as if they were his lover’s cock. After several long seconds, they withdrew, and he felt his own spittle wiped across his chest. Then the booted steps carried the man away again.

 

After Harry’s oral ministrations, Draco felt his cock harden against his leg. This was going to be more perfect than anything he could have dreamed of. Harry Potter was going to be his skilled subordinate, whether he liked it or not. Draco was going to enjoy punishing him for making his childhood a miserable one. For good measure, he pushed his former classmate back into line, and continued down the line of remaining men, though he was no longer interested in anything any of them could possibly have to offer. He crossed the room without another look to any of them, and let the man in line after him into the room.

“Ca unul. Numarul sase.” Draco commanded to the man setting up the auctioneer’s podium. “Eu vreau ca el si nu vreau sa mai astepte.” That one. Number six. I want him and I don’t want to wait. He pulled a sac of galleons from his inner blazer pocket. “Spune-ti pretul.” Name your price.

 

Two more men came through the room, examining others on either side of Harry, and further down the line. He could hear their hurried breathing Harry felt hands on him, and he was suddenly withdrawn from his place in line. He didn’t know what was happening, but didn’t dare argue. He could only assume that the auction was going to begin, and he was first in line. His heart began to thump in his chest as he was directed into a private room. The door slammed, and he was there for some time before it opened, and someone crossed to him. He felt his wrists loosened, and then the blinders were removed.

He blinked into the light. “Ivan? What’s going on? Where is everyone else? Is the auction going to start?”

Ivan looked grim. “There is no auction for you, Harry.”

“What?” Harry felt the color drain from his face and his stomach suddenly twisted in a knot. “You’ve been sold outright to someone with long-standing affiliations with us. As a favor, and he’s paid a great sum of galleons to have you without the hassle.”

“What? No!” Harry wanted to stomp his foot. “That’s not supposed to happen! Go back and tell them you’ll counter. It doesn’t matter, I have the gold to back you.”

“I can’t,” Ivan sighed. “The contract was already signed. I only found out moments before you did. I’m sorry, Harry.”

“You’re not sorry!” Harry accused angrily, and backed away from the older man. “You took a cut, didn’t you? You’ve known all along this would happen. You’re a head hunter, just like the rest of them. Just throw me away, why don’t you?”

Ivan looked stunned, then angry. “You tell yourself that if it will make you feel better, Harry. I may have lured you here under…false pretenses, but I certainly intended to keep a gem like you for myself. Now stop your whining. You’ve got to be prepared for delivery. Your owner is waiting to take you back to England. Stand up straight and get back here. I wasn’t supposed to untie you, but I wanted to say goodbye…”

Harry had his back against the wall and his lower lip jutted out, then started to quiver. His brain was panicking with the unexpected premise that he was going to be taken back to the very place he’d been trying to escape. “England? No. I won’t. I can’t!”

“Harry!” Ivan snapped, then curtly re-directed him in Romanian. 

Harry peeled himself away from the wall and approached the older man sullenly. “Who is it?” he questioned as Ivan began to fit his wrists and ankles with the leather straps with the metal rings.

“He wants to remain anonymous and reveal himself to you.” Ivan sighed, running his hands up the length of his young lover’s legs.

“What’s he like?” Harry pressed, turning his back to allow his hands to be buckled together again.

“He’s young, but he comes from a long line of slave owners. He has come here many times with his father, and if he is anything like him, he will be hard.”

Harry stiffened.

“Hard to please, but good for you.” Ivan explained, turning Harry around and planting a hasty kiss on his lips. He summoned the blindfold, and began to fit it around Harry’s head again. “I have been very lax with you, and though you are compliant, you are often willful. What are you worried about? It is only a year.”

“Three.” Harry responded miserably.

“Three? Harry!”

“You were supposed to buy me.” The boy lamented. “It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. I don’t know what to do…”

An impatient knock came at the door.

“You’re going to behave yourself and make me proud to have trained you, that’s what you’re going to do.” Ivan responded quickly in Harry’s ear. Then he shouted in Romanian that they were coming. He took Harry by the upper arm and directed him out the door. 

Just before he was taken outside, he felt a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and the loose end tucked in by his neck. Then he was escorted to a waiting carriage and helped inside. 

“Ivan!” He cried out at the last minute, though he was already seated in the carriage. He had no way of knowing whether his new owner was there or not.

“Shhh…” Ivan’s large hand caressed his face one last time. “Goodbye, Harry. Be good.” He tousled the young man’s hair for good measure, then shut the door.

Harry lowered his head and tried to hold back the tears of disappointment that were threatening to spill over.

“Stiti cine sint eu?” Do you know who I am? An acerbic voice prompted.

“No,” Harry shook his head.

“Acesta ‘Nu Maestru’ sa te!” That’s ‘No, Master’ to you!

“No, Maestru,” Harry conceded miserably. 

The carriage jolted into motion, though once they started, Harry couldn’t feel the wheels turning against the cobblestones. Shock absorption spells were commonly employed for carriages, still the usual transportation in Romania.

After several long minutes in silence, Harry felt a gentle hand on his face. It drew him off the bench and down onto his knees between his un-named master’s thighs. Fingertips smoothed his unruly hair, un-tucking it from where it was trapped behind the confining straps of the blinders. Harry felt his scar caressed again, and then the fingers found their way back to his mouth, only this time, they hovered instead of forcing their way in.

Be good, be good, be good! Harry told himself over and over. This man is a hard man, and you don’t like being punished. He drew the digits into his mouth and made love to them with his tongue as if his life depended on it.

Draco repressed a groan from escaping him, and the noise became a strangled grunt in his throat. After a few minutes, he couldn’t take the torture of that soft tongue any more. He freed his straining cock from his trousers and directed his new slave’s head downward. ‘Suck it, Potter!’ was the command at the tip of his tongue, but he forced himself to say nothing. No, he’d already worked out the way he was going to break the news to his nemesis, but first, he was going to see how good he really was at fellatio. 

He sneered downward, watching Potter nuzzle the inside of his thigh and inhale his scent before tentatively mouthing his shaft, working his way toward his eager and dripping cockhead. Draco could only suck in a deep breath and tangle his fingers into dark locks. He pulled hard and arched up, forcing his prick against the velvet wetness that enveloped him.

 

Harry tried to bury his thoughts down inside as he busied himself with this newest task. He wrested a gasp from his Master, but he wanted more. He wanted proof that he was being an eager and pleasing slave. He took the musky cock as deep as he could in his throat, feeling the rough scrape of pubic hair curl against his nose. Harry swallowed and rocked his head slightly, earning another restrained grunt. He shifted his weight to get a better angle, then began to bob his head slowly. When he finally pulled off, he swirled his tongue rapidly around the swollen tip, then stabbed his tongue into the slit, drawing forth a warm, salty fluid.

Fingers tightened in his hair and tugged hard, urging him down again. Harry ignored this cue and continued to tease the cock with gentle flicks of his tongue until fingers scrabbled around the back of his head, taking firm hold and hips tipped forward, pushing the pulsing prick against the back of his throat. This time, Harry obliged.

Draco began to pant and thrust his hips. Either Potter was fucking brilliant at sucking off, or he was getting his jollies just knowing his cock was buried to the hilt in his enemies mouth, but either way, he was going to come soon.

“Ah, ah, ah!” The wordless tune escaped him and his hips came off the bench entirely. Potter continued his pace despite the vice-like grip Malfoy had in his hair by now, and in a moment, hot spunk was shooting into the hot tunnel of his throat.

Harry swallowed every drop, then continued to lick the softening flesh until the hands in his hair jerked him away. He settled his rump back on his heels, satisfied with a job well done. He knew his own penis was jutting and on display.

“Fuck, Potter!” The voice gasped, in English this time, and completely devoid of Romanian accent. In fact, he’d heard that same epithet muttered at him thousands of times over the last few years, just never in this context.

For the second time that day, Harry felt all the blood drain from his face. “Malfoy?” He scrambled back a few paces, his back hitting the bench he’d been seated on not so long ago. “No! No, no, no, no……”


	8. Chapter 8

“Nononononononononono…” Harry shook his head back and forth as if it would be possible to rid himself of this situation.

“Shut it, Potter!” Malfoy sneered, and adjusted himself back into his pants. 

But Harry just kept protesting on auto-loop, although he switched to the less mundane, “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” His back in a corner and arms bound tightly behind him, there was no where to go.

The corners of Draco’s mouth drew up. Yes, things certainly were going to get interesting for him. And to think, he was worried that life as an independently wealthy man was going to be boring… He slipped off the bench and downward, straddling Potter’s thighs. He took hold of his age-mate’s throat in one hand, squeezing just firmly enough to show he meant business. And then, on a whim, his mouth came crashing down.

Harry tried to twist his face away, but Malfoy’s fingers curled into his hair and held him firm. Lips moved with a bruising force, silencing further protests. Draco could taste himself on Potter’s tongue, which dueled his because it was currently the only unrestrained muscle in the subordinate’s body. Neither the flavor, nor the sensation were entirely unpleasant to the blond. Malfoy jerked his face away when he was suddenly implored by his body to breathe.

He took a few panting breaths before hissing into Harry’s ear, “You’re mine now, Potter. And I’m going to enjoy breaking you over the next three years, if it even takes that long.” He ground his hips into Potter’s, and was keenly aware of the unattended erection there. For good measure, he slid his body teasingly along the length a few more times, drawing out a throaty groan from Harry. “Why, you’re nothing but a filthy cock-slut,” He commented with amusement.

Then, Potter made a choking sound, and Draco loosened his grip. He hadn’t thought he was strangling the man, but maybe he wasn’t as in control of himself as he’d thought. He pushed himself backward and onto the cushioned seat he’d previously occupied, leaving Harry to curl inward toward the bench in an attempt to hide his need, which clearly shamed him. Shamed him because there was only Malfoy to attend to him, and he would not beg that of the one living person he hated with all of his being. The moment he realized he had lost Ivan and sold himself into slavery, to be owned and tortured by one Draco Malfoy, in England, and publicly, no doubt, for the next three years immediately made his life seem not worth living anymore. Harry stifled a sob and contorted his body to press his face into the cushion behind him.

Watching Potter come unwound was quite possibly one of the most thrilling moments of Draco’s life. He spent a long while watching Harry shift his body and contort his facial features in silent contemplation of his situation. Malfoy was encouraged to find he’d devastated Harry in the simple act of purchasing him, and with relish, he looked forward to the days and nights ahead of them both. He had a not-quite fully broken in whip that he itched to stripe Potter’s back with. With one finger, Draco caressed the length of his own burgeoning hard-on.

Malfoy had been cataloguing Potter’s features for the first time in his life, realizing that the man was not so entirely un-attractive. He was lean-muscled and fit, with a rounded arse that begged for his hand or paddle. Lips-well, he’d already learned what that mouth was good for, and he intended to use it again, perhaps soon. As for the hair, well, that would be taken care of once and for all. No more messy cowlicks, no, Draco liked his slaves well groomed, and he would make sure that Potter was presentable. And those glasses…the round-rimmed, ghastly things were tucked into his blazer pocket beside a nearly empty sack of galleons. Draco was going to make sure he had the bastards eyes fixed, and then he would crush the glasses under his booted heel the way he’d wanted to for so many years.

Harry was growing increasingly uncomfortable, not only with the situation- Malfoy had fallen silent. Was he sleeping? Was he looking at him? Was he ignoring him? Harry couldn’t tell and that alone was making him uneasy. Too, his shoulders were beginning to ache and throb painfully. His arms had been confined in this manner for hours now, and his fingertips were starting to tingle. Not to mention that the sheep’s fur lining the inside of his goggles was damp with shed tears, and making his eyelids itch. He shifted his body weight off the bench and downward into a prostrating stance at Malfoy’s feet. Please, untie me! He willed his nemesis, presenting his stiffened arms skyward.

Harry felt Draco shift, and he thought for a moment, the man might have some semblance of kindness in him, but then he felt his crossed wrists nudged upward and a weight settle over his lower back as Malfoy crossed his legs over Harry’s raised rump.

“Mmmm, much more comfortable,” Draco sighed with malice. “What a thoughtful slave you are, Potter.” 

Harry pressed his forehead into the floor and tried not to squirm, but after a few minutes, couldn’t help it. He shifted his weight again, jostling Draco’s legs.

Malfoy looked down at Harry. He knew the man was uncomfortable in his fetters, how could he not be? Well, that wasn’t his problem now, was it? Still, it wasn’t befitting of a Malfoy to neglect his slave. “If you want me to take them off, you’ll have to ask.” That’s it, make Potter beg for every small kindness.

A long silence passed as Harry bit back the retort that wanted to snap out of him. “Could you release my bonds?” He finally deigned to ask.

Draco snorted. “Now, now, Potty. I know you’ve been trained better than that. And I already told you once. You will address me as ‘Master’, or not at all.”

It seemed Harry had chosen the ‘not at all’ option, as he fell silent again. Draco readjusted his feet on Harry’s back with a careless shrug to himself, and began humming lowly. 

It wasn’t until Harry’s fingertips were prickling painfully and his shoulders began to scream in protest that he spoke up again. “M-master…” he began.

Malfoy grinned evilly at how difficult it must have been for him to say that. “Yes, Slave?”

“Would you release my arms and remove the blinder?” Potter’s voice seemed small and controlled.

“Say please.” He drawled slowly.

“Please!” Harry’s voice jacked in pitch and urgency, and Draco knew it was time for action. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, drawing his wand from his coat sleeve. He tapped the back of Harry’s head, and then his wrists, and the wrist bonds unsnapped and the goggles fell away.

Harry sat back on his heels immediately, flexing his arms and massaging his wrists in turn, before scrubbing his face and balling his fists into puffy, red eyes. He wouldn’t meet Draco’s smirking gaze, and instead, drew the blanket, which had been cast aside shortly after the carriage was set in motion, back around his shoulders.

Draco hadn’t even considered that his naked cohort might be chilled. But, instead of an apology, what came out of his mouth was a bitter reprimand. “Are you an ungrateful slave?”

Harry shot him a hateful look.

“Do you need a reminder that I needn’t show any kindness to you at all?” He grabbed one of Potter’s arms nearest him and twisted it cruelly behind his back, forcing his wrist up between his shoulder blades. Harry’s body arched backward, trying to alleviate the tension.

“Ow! Ow, you stupid fuck!” The moment the words escaped Harry’s mouth, he couldn’t believe he’d said them. He hadn’t thought of uttering such a phrase to any of the other men he’d worked with, for fear of retribution. And besides, that simply was not something a well-behaved slave did.

Two small dots of color appeared on Draco’s pale cheeks. If Potter thought he could talk to him like that, he had another thing coming. Gone were the school days when they would be separated for fighting, when he could be punished for sending a hex in Harry’s direction. His free hand swung, and he backhanded Harry across the face. His knuckles burned from the contact, yet itched to do it again. Then, he was moving in the small cabin of the carriage again, pressing their bodies close. Harry flinched away from him, pressing his hands to the wall behind him, lest they do something to betray him too.

“Never have I had such an impudent slave!” Draco growled. He fisted the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck and jerked his head back hard, enjoying the thudding sound that came as a result of contact with the wall behind them. “You are going to learn your place, and I don’t care if it kills you!”

Harry’s eyes were closed but he looked stricken nonetheless. Draco took Harry by the shoulders and shoved him hard into the corner where the bench seat met the floor, and Harry’s back arched again in painful protest. 

“You are going to sit there, and so help me, Merlin if you say another word until we get to the inn…I will stop this carriage and blister your arse in the middle of the road, and I don’t care who sees…”

Harry flinched again at the thought, and swallowed thickly.

Malfoy continued. “If you can behave yourself for the remainder of the trip, I’ll hold your punishment off until we’re in the privacy of the room I’ve reserved, where I can ward it properly, and no one will have to hear you scream…understand?”

Harry’s eyes came open, and he nodded, eyes meeting Draco’s sullenly, but only for a moment before they drifted downward in submission.

 

Shortly before arrival, Draco transfigured the grey, woolen blanket Harry clutched around himself into a pair of dark trousers and a collared shirt. He made no bones about watching Harry dress, which somehow was more humiliating to him than sitting there naked had been. The last thing he did was offer up the detested glasses. It didn’t do him any good to have a half-blind slave, after all.

When they reached their destination, the carriage door opened of it’s own accord, and Malfoy stepped out, then beckoned to Harry. Harry followed, somewhat shaky and queasy, his mind on the punishment that loomed ahead of him. A porter came out of the inn, but Draco waved him away. “No, no thank you. My man will take care of the trunks.” He shifted and eyed Harry with intent, and Harry found himself climbing up on the backend of the carriage to draw down the luggage that was secured there. 

Once he had it unloaded, the porter climbed onto the front of the carriage to dock it for the evening. The carriage was drawn by thestrals, glamoured to look like horses incase they passed any Muggles on the way. What Harry couldn’t figure out was why they hadn’t just taken a port-key back to England instead, and why they were traveling in a fashion that surely should have seemed dated and barbaric to Malfoy.

“Put the last one in the corner,” Draco instructed, hands on his hips as he watched Harry struggle with the last heavy trunk. After Harry had settled it down, he stood awkwardly in place, shifting his weight almost nervously.

“How long has it been since you were spanked, Potter?” Malfoy asked, drawing his wand again and aiming it around the room, expecting an answer as he waved the privacy wards into place. When he was finished, he turned the wand on Harry. “I asked you a question, slave.”

“T-two days.” Harry stammered, then remembered to tack onto the end of his statement, “Master,” His last days at the institution had been spent being pampered and groomed in preparation for the sale. It was best not to put any slaves on the auction block with bodies already marked from abuse.

“I’ll bet you’re just itching for the paddle then, aren’t you?” Draco sneered at Harry, then flicked his wand. Harry flinched as the trunk beside him popped open.

“No…Master.” Harry disagreed, squirming uncomfortably.

“I think you’re lying.” Malfoy said, eyeing Harry intently. “Strip, and then find the red handled paddle in the trunk.” Draco loosened his tie as he crossed the suite and threw it on the table on his way to the bed. He perched on the corner of the mattress and crossed his arms, letting Harry know that he was waiting. “Every moment you delay this, Potter, is another lash you suffer at my hand.”

That sparked Harry into action. He divested himself of clothes, then dropped to his knees to root through the trunk. He came up with a black leather-encased paddle with a red stripe on the handle, holding it up for Malfoy’s approval.

Draco nodded once and began to roll up his sleeves. “On your hands and knees, then, and bring it here. Don’t you dare scratch my favorite paddle either, or you’ll suffer for it, I promise.”

Harry gaped, fishmouthed.

“Chop, chop, Potter. I daresay you’re up to a hundred and thirty strokes by now.” Draco’s grin was malicious. 

Harry turned on his knees and lowered himself to the floor. Then he eyed the paddle in his hand, and raised it to his mouth instead.

“Very good,” Malfoy murmured. “Oh, this is a very good day indeed. I can’t wait to owl my father and tell him I’ve had Harry Cock-Sucking Potter crawling on his hands and knees for me…” He took the paddle when Harry reached him, and stroked it almost fondly. Then he held the flat side out toward his slave. “Do you want this?”

Harry started to shake his head no, but Draco made a sound in his throat. “Wrong answer, Potter. Say ‘Yes’.”

“I want it,” Harry managed to whisper. Though he was familiar with this game, the last person he wanted to play with was Malfoy.

“Good boy.” Draco smirked and shifted his bottom backward on the bed for better purchase. “Over my knees, then. Do I have to bind you?”

“No,” Harry answered hurriedly, scrambling up and laying himself over the man’s lap. If there was anything he hated, it was being bound and helpless and at the mercy of the paddle. He would control himself, if it was the last thing he did.

“Get your cock away from my leg, Potter.” Malfoy warned, amused that Harry was already hardening without a single slap. “If you make a mess on my trousers, you’ll clean them with your tongue, and then I’ll give you another fifty lashes with my whip.”

Harry jerked his hips backward, then stiffened. Did he just say his whip?

“Please tell me you’ve never been whipped before,” Malfoy’s voice wafted down in amusement.

“Never…” Harry whispered.

“Potter, I think you just made my week!” Draco sounded in excitement moments before raising his arm and swinging it down. Harry stiffened again at the blow, but didn’t allow himself to make a sound. “Count them…” Draco commanded. “And if you stop, I start over. I don’t care if we’re at this ‘til dawn…”

“One.” Harry gritted through his teeth. The first ten strokes were nothing he wasn’t used to.

 

“….Twenty-seven…” He moaned. By now, his arse was warm and his cock was a rigid. He thought of humping his hips against Malfoy’s leg, and his face burned.

 

“A-a hundred…please…” Harry drew in a ragged breath and sobbed. His arse was on fire. His thighs burned. His prick had gone soft from the pain, and then grown hard again when his pleas weren’t enough reason for Malfoy to stop.

The paddle stroked sideways across the reddened skin, and Harry almost screamed. “You want me to stop?” Malfoy teased him. His own cock was solidly hard and in need of attention.

“P-p-p-please, M-master….I’m s-sorry.” Potter had his body wound around Malfoy’s legs and he was holding on to one shin for dear life. He pressed his lips into the fabric of Draco’s trousers over and over.

“You won’t swear at me ever again?”

“N-n-never.” Harry promised.

“You’ll be good?” Draco led.

“So good.”

The paddle settled into the bed and Draco used his hand to knead Harry’s buttocks, forcing him to squirm in pain. “This belongs to me now.” When there was no response, he pinched a particularly red area tightly.

Harry squealed and pressed his face more tightly into Draco’s trousers. 

“This is mine, I said.”

“Yours!” came Harry’s muffled response.

Draco shoved at Potter’s torso. “Alright, get down.”

Harry slipped onto his knees and bowed his body at Malfoy’s feet.

Malfoy unfastened his trousers hastily and laid back, lifting his hips so that he could shove the pants around his knees. “Get over here, Potter.” He commanded, his hand in the brown hair to guide him. “Now suck my cock like you mean it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are wibbling, this is not a story about hardcore abuse, but rather one of a slowly evolving relationship. I urge you to stick it through. This completed story is also posted on LJ and Hpfandom.net if you need to read faster than I can post. 
> 
> Please comment and review if you are or have enjoyed the fic.


	9. Chapter 9

There had been no cuddling or reassurance after Harry’s first spanking from Draco. That was always the best part after taking a hard beating, the knowing that you were still loved. Being told how good you were, how strong, for suffering through a punishment. Instead, Malfoy had pushed Harry away again, cleaned himself up, and then rang for dinner.

When it came, he snapped his fingers impatiently at his slave, then gestured to the chair at the table with a grin. “Sit.”

A low whimper came in Harry’s throat. His bottom was raw and throbbing, and he thought a few blisters might be forming. The mere thought of sitting caused a wave of pain across his backside.

“Are you really going to challenge me again so soon?” Draco asked plainly, reaching for a hot roll. He split it in two with a stab and flick of his knife, and then began to butter it. “If I have to tell you again, I’ll give you the other thirty strokes that you begged off.”

Harry eyed the chair as if it had teeth, then placed one knee on the seat before scooting his body so that his calf curled under his thigh to support his body weight, with his arse elevated. He thought he was being clever, but no, Malfoy wouldn’t have it.

Draco placed both his roll and knife aside and eyed Harry with a devilish gleam in his eye. “Come now, sit properly. You’re at a Malfoy dinner table and I expect better manners from you. I don’t care if you were raised by Muggles.”

Harry slowly slipped his leg out from beneath him and settled down into the chair, a loud hiss escaping him when his skin came in full contact with the wooden seat. At first, the coolness of the surface was almost soothing, but then it warmed with his body heat and seemed to sear him.

“Oh,” Malfoy suddenly said as if it had only just occurred to him. “They left the wine over there on the end table. Be a good one and fetch it, won’t you?”

Harry was quick to his feet and crossed the room, and when he returned, uncorked the bottle with only a small amount of trouble. He filled Draco’s glass without being asked and then set the bottle in the center of the table. He had no sooner suffered the trauma of sitting once more, when Draco bade him get up and fetch the linen he’d dropped on the floor, and after that, found two other things to get Harry out of his seat. Harry’s body had broken out in gooseflesh from the renewed pain of sitting time and again, and this was the final straw.

“Master, please…” He begged through gritted teeth. Addressing Malfoy that way pained him nearly as much as the spanking had. “It hurts too much to sit. Can’t I kneel or stand?”

Draco wiped his mouth daintily and narrowed his eyes at Harry. “On the occasions you’re invited to the table, you’ll sit respectfully, or you won’t eat at all. So make your choice.”

After a full minute, and Harry remained standing, Malfoy gestured to one side of the room. “Take yourself over there, then.”

Relieved, Harry padded to the spot he thought Draco had indicated, inline with his vision, but far enough away that his presence wouldn’t be an annoyance.

“And get down!” Malfoy snapped with irritation. “I won’t have you towering over me like that. Your rightful place is beneath me…always has been. It’ll do you well to remember that, Slave.” 

Harry sank to his knees and bowed his head.

The berating continued. “I expect an answer from you when I address you… Sweet Salazar, did you spend a year training to be a slave or not?”

“Yes, Master.” Harry replied, feeling the shame of admonition burn in his core. But he had spent a year learning to please someone he already loved. Not training for Draco Sodding Malfoy. Three bloody days with this git was going to be too long. Forget three years…

“Well, no surprise there. You always were a dreadful student. I’ll just have to re-train you myself.” There was a smugness to Malfoy’s tone.

“Yes, Master.” Harry’s voice was flat and emotionless.

“Thank me for my tireless dedication to a hopeless cause like you, Potter.”

“Thank you, Master.”

 

 

After Draco had finished his dinner, which took far too long for one dining alone, he trussed Harry to one of the bed’s legs and left him there while he showered. Harry would have thought he was trying to exhaust the hot water supply if he didn’t already know that the furnace at a Wizard’s inn would be spelled to never run cold. Despite this, he was still trying to shuffle his body into a comfortable position on the floor when Malfoy emerged in a cloud of steam, his hair dried and combed, and not a stitch of clothing on his body. Harry curled more tightly in on himself and wished like hell that his arse end was facing toward the bed instead of away from it. On top of everything else he had endured today, he wasn’t sure his composure would hold if Malfoy insisted on fucking him too.

But, Draco merely sneered at him and climbed into the bed. “With the day you’ve had, Potter, you ought to be asleep by now.”

Harry was silent until he realized Draco was waiting for his response. “Yes, Master.” He said.

“Bloody cotton sheets…” Malfoy began grumbling to himself and re-arranging pillows. “Tomorrow, we ride to Sliven, in Bulgaria. And if we don’t have to pull over too many times so that I can remind you of your place, we’ll make it to Greece by Saturday.”

“Yes, Master,” Harry droned, but he couldn’t help questioning. “But…”

“What is it, Potter?” Draco huffed with irritation as he put out the lights with one sweep of his wand.

“Why didn’t you just take a port-key back?”

“Oh!” Draco’s face suddenly appeared over the side of the mattress. “And I suppose you think it’s easy to get an international port-key to Romania and back? Well, you would, wouldn’t you? Harry Potter is used to having people bend over backward to accommodate him, is he? Well, I’ll tell you what- the rest of us common folk who don’t have ties to the ministry right and left are on our own when it comes to traveling anywhere East of France, these days! Eager to get back to England, are you? Think you’ll get your face in the bloody paper again? How do you think the Wizarding world is going to react when they find out their bloody savior is crawling on his hands and knees and sucking the cock of the son of a former Death Eater, hmmm?” Malfoy snorted and flopped back onto the mattress. “If I didn’t think your imbecile friends would try to mount a rescue mission, I’d owl Rita Skeeter in a heartbeat. And don’t you think I wouldn’t either.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Potter! Shut your fucking gob and go to sleep already!”

“Yes, Master.”

 

 

If it weren’t for exhaustion, Harry wouldn’t have slept at all. He was hungry and stressed, sleeping on the hard floor with both of his wrists tethered together around the leg of the bed, as if he would have run away. Or maybe Draco was afraid that Harry might murder him in his sleep…not that it hadn’t crossed Harry’s mind once or twice. Even so, the school in Romania had provided cots, and Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d bunked on the floor. And anyway, he’d certainly never done so without creature comforts, like pillows and blankets.

In the morning, he woke stiff-jointed and with a crick in his neck. His body was half-under the bed frame and when he worked his way out, found he was covered in dust bunnies. He tried to blow the tickling bit’s of fuzz and dirt off his skin, seeing as how his hands were useless.

“Good lord, what is going on down there?” Malfoy seemed like he was already awake, but lounging in the bed lazily. He peered over the edge and scowled. “You’re a filthy mess. How in Merlin’s green pastures do you manage to attract to all the scum of the earth onto your body in one night?” He swung his feet onto the floor and reached for his wand.

“Come on, up!” He flicked his wand in the direction of Harry’s wrist cuffs, unlinking them. He took Harry by the nape of the neck as though he were entirely incapable of following a spoken directive, and ushered him into the bathroom. Another wave of his wand removed the leather harness and wrist and ankle cuffs.

Harry climbed into the shower and stood in the stream of water beating down on him until Draco scowled. “I’m not going to bathe you, Potter. Stop being such a helpless ponce and get to it already, if you want to eat before we depart. 

Harry felt his irritation rising. How was he to know what was expected of him if he wasn’t told? He had spent the last year with his own personal groom, and Malfoy ought to know that, if his family had been doing business with the academy for decades. As he lathered the soap between his palms, he looked up to find Draco staring at him with dull fascination.

“Going to watch me the whole time, Master?” The words bubbled out laced with ire, and he made a deliberate show of washing his privates.

“Watch it, Potter.” Malfoy warned, crossing his arms. “You’ll learn soon enough that I do what I like when I please, and you’re helpless to do anything but accommodate my wishes. You want another beating before breakfast, is that what you’re telling me?”

Harry scowled. “No, Master.”

“And watch your tone, you brainless git, or that’s exactly what you’re going to get. I expect you done in ten minutes.” Draco pointed his wand for emphasis, then started out the door.

 

When Harry was finished, he dried himself with a towel the best he could. His hair was still damp and clinging together in strange little clumps, but he hadn’t seen a comb lying about either. It was odd, trying to figure out how to put his own harness on, though he managed the cuffs just fine. In the end, he draped the scrap of leather over his arm and emerged, looking possibly worse for wear than he had going in.

Draco was standing over two house-elves, who were scurrying to set the table in front of him. He was dressed as usual in a pair of charcoal slacks and a white button down shirt with a slim black tie. His blazer hung over the back of one of the chairs. Malfoy looked over at Harry and scowled, his boots thumping across the floor boards as he approached. He took Harry by the arm and pushed him back into the bathroom. “Bloody hell! You look like something my owl threw up…” he drew his wand out of his shirt sleeve and began waving it madly. 

Harry felt himself more thoroughly dried, and his hair was styled carefully. Then Draco snatched the harness away and held it out so that Harry could fit himself into it. He buckled all the straps tightly, and pointed at Harry to stay. Draco peered around the corner of the bathroom door, and when he was sure the elves had gone, he delivered a sharp smack to Potter’s bottom with his bare hand. Harry jumped and squealed, and then flushed at the silliness of his own reaction.

Malfoy offered him a sardonic grin and gestured to his slave to follow him. Harry had just begun to settle himself down into the chair across Malfoy- he was certain that his bum would tolerate sitting after eight hours of recovery time- but Draco made a sound in his throat and shook his head. He snapped his fingers several times, and gestured to the floor beside him. “I didn’t tell you to sit at the table today. You sit here, unless I tell you otherwise.” He pointed to the spot next to his feet again.

Harry’s face turned a darker shade of red as he crossed to the indicated area. He sank down on his knees, hating Draco with every movement. “I’m to eat on the floor then? Master?”

Draco smirked down at him. “No, that’s disgusting. You will, however, take what I give you, and you’ll use only your mouth.”

Harry wanted to reel back from him in disgust. “Merlin, Malfoy, I’m not your fucking dog!”

Malfoy shrugged. “Suit yourself then.” He unfolded the linen into his lap. “How long can you go without eating?” Before Harry could respond, Malfoy continued. “And don’t think I’m going to let your insolence slip, either…tonight, you’ll get the whip. But for now, I’d like to get on the road.” He reached for a scone and then spooned a bit of clotted cream onto it. 

After he had filled his plate and begun eating, he broke off a bit of the scone and held it out to Harry, who wrinkled his nose and inched back. He would not take food from Malfoy’s hand like some kind of beggar dog. It was insulting and demeaning, and meant to be exactly those things. Missing a few meals wouldn’t kill him. When Harry didn’t take it, Draco let the scrap drop onto the floor and continued his meal. He offered several more bites, which ended in a pile on the floor boards.

Finally, Malfoy wiped his mouth and pushed away from the table, leaving his linen crumpled on his chair. “Come on then, get dressed and load the trunks…” He tucked two fingers into the leather strap across Harry’s shoulders and walked away, dragging Harry along behind him until he managed to get his feet under him.

 

 

“Why don’t you just spell them?” Harry asked miserably as he struggled with the heaviest trunk.

“Why waste the energy? I’ve got you to do my dirty work.” Draco lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Harry to challenge him again, and when he didn’t, went back to studying his fingernails and waiting for the carriage to be readied. They departed as soon as it was, and it wasn’t long before Harry was squirming in discomfort. The straps of the harness were too tight, and pulling at his skin. Having clothes layered atop that were an itchy, restricting distraction every time he moved.

But Malfoy was practically ignoring him, engrossed in a thick text on Master- level potion brewing. Finally, his eyes moved up disdainfully. “Potter! You’re worse than a child. Settle down or I’ll tie you down. Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? Never a moment’s peace when you’re around, is there?”

Harry glared, but Draco had already resumed his reading. 

At mid day, they stopped for a bit to stretch their legs- well, Draco did anyway. Harry he leashed like a common mongrel and tugged along behind him. Then Draco had a bit of a picnic, while Harry dined on nothing but his own spite, again, having refused to take a bit of cheese from Malfoy’s hand. Before they started off again, Malfoy had Harry climb onto the top of the carriage and fish out his whip, a small vial of hippogriff oil, and a cloth.

Malfoy spent the afternoon tending to his whip and hoping his deliberate actions were working Harry into a tizzy. Despite his inner turmoil, Harry forced himself to draw up his legs, lean into the corner, and shut his eyes. He wasn’t going to let Malfoy best him, and pretended to be bored with his antics. 

When Draco was finished polishing, he set the coiled leather whip on the bench beside him and stretched his arms. It wouldn’t be long now, before they reached the inn, and he had to decide whether he wanted dinner or the punishment to come first. After awhile, he decided that supper was best in order, followed by the whipping, and then a nice shower, after he used Potter’s services again, of course.

 

 

“You’re being awful stubborn, Potter. You’re going to need your strength to keep up with all the beatings I’m planning on giving you…” Malfoy drawled as he settled back in his chair a moment, dropping his linen on the table and holding a juicy morsel of roasted quail between his finger tips.

Harry only glared sullenly from his position on the floor and shook his head. I don’t ruddy care. He thought. Beat me all you like, but I’m not going to reduce myself to that, not for you.

Draco tut-tutted and flicked the poultry at him, not bothering to notice that it bounced off his chest before rolling away. He resumed his eating at a leisurely pace.

Harry’s stomach rumbled in rebellion against his morals, and he found himself eyeing the bit of meat and bread that had already been cast aside on the floor. Was it any better to eat food off the ground, than it was to take it from Malfoy? Well, it might be…His eyes flickered upward at his dallying master, and then back at the discarded vittles.

“Don’t do it, Potter,” Draco’s voice was thick with amusement.

When Harry looked up, he found Malfoy smirking down at him. “I find it in incredibly poor taste that you would sooner consider eating off the floor boards like a common mongrel than you would from my hand like a favored pet.” He lifted his wand and banished the food away while Harry’s face reddened at the prospect of being either of those things. “No matter,” Draco continued. “You will sit there properly until I am finished. And then you can fetch the whip.”

Bile bubbled up in Harry’s throat as he faced his next task to endure. He’d never been whipped at the Academy-they reserved that as true punishment, and not something to be mixed with pleasure. Harry only wanted the pleasurable parts, and after his first illustrious week, spent the remaining time in good graces with the trainers. Not to mention that Ivan had a tendency to coddle him and hide him away from the harsher bits.

 

 

Draco took his sweet time as usual, letting the tension build. He could see it all over Potter’s face, and in his posture. Malfoy couldn’t help the grin that crept on to his face. For once in his life, Harry Potter was afraid of him, and wasn’t going to stand up for himself. “Come on then, up you get.” At the barest touch of his fingers on Harry’s bicep, his former classmate fueled into action and was on his feet in an instant. “Good behavior won’t spare you now, Potter. Although it might serve you well in the future.”

With a wave of his wand, Harry’s manacles wrists rose in the air and pulled him up until he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, already gasping. Draco stepped forward and ran one fingertip down the length of Harry’s spine, causing the man to jump.

“Nervous, are we?” Malfoy held his finger just under Potter’s nose to illustrate the sweat he’d collected, then wiped it across Harry’s cheek, before patting it roughly. “Just remember, the tenser you are, the more this will hurt.” He leaned closer, his lips grazing Harry’s right eat as he whispered dramatically. “And I’m dying to hear you scream.”

He uncoiled the whip from his belt and let the length of it drag up Harry’s torso, around his shoulders, and down the other side. Then he drew it up his heaving abdomen again and presented the thickest part before the handle to Harry’s mouth. “Kiss it. Let it know you love it.”

Harry made a sound of protest deep in his throat, but forced his lips into a pucker anyway and brushed the oiled leather gently.

“That’s it, Potter. A good slave is always grateful to learn from his mistakes.” Draco let the whip run up the back of Harry’s thigh and along the rippling muscles of his spine for good measure before he finally stepped back. He stroked the length of the leather through his hand once more, then widened his stance before cocking his arm back. “Don’t forget to count like a good little boy…”

Harry was already trembling before the first lash took him entirely by surprise. A hard stroke across his upper back that left a thin red line, raising into a welt already. His body snapped into a rigid line, and then his legs drew upward as if they could somehow protect him. It was only after his entire body weight swung from his wrists that he scrabbled for purchase on the floor again. “Oh! Oh…fffuck.” He squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“I didn’t hear you count, Potter. I suppose that was a practice swing then.” Malfoy taunted.

“One! One, one, oneoneoneone…”

“No, too late. Try again with this one.” Malfoy’s whip snapped through the air.

“Oh sweet fucking Merlin!” Harry ground through his teeth, then remembered at the end. “One!”

“There’s a good boy,” Malfoy grinned

 

 

“Why, Potter, only four strokes, and are you crying already?” Draco wound the whip around his forearm and came around the front of Harry, brushing his fingertips against the wet trails on Harry’s cheeks. Then he rubbed them into the pad of his thumb. “And here I thought you were a brave Gryffindor…” He shook his head in mock disappointment.

“How many more can you take? And do be honest. If you go too easy, I’ll give you ten times as many.”

Harry groaned and bowed his head, trying to work the figures in his head. How many more could he realistically endure? And were we talking physically, or emotionally?

“Quickly now, quickly, or I’ll have to decide for you.” Malfoy taunted, unwinding the whip again.

“S-six.” Harry stammered.

“Hmmm, six?” Malfoy mused, pursing his lips together and wandering slowly behind Harry again. “I think eight is better, wouldn’t you like that?”

“Yes, yes master,” Harry readily agreed. “Eight is much better, thank you.” He was grateful that Malfoy had only upped his number by two instead of doubling it.

“Why, look at that…” Draco drawled. “You do have manners…”

When Malfoy’s next lash caught him against the upper thigh, winding around his hip, Harry did scream. It was a deep, cutting pain that seared his tender flesh there and brought renewed tears, through which he managed to blubber, “F-f-five.”

By the time Draco was done, Potter was hanging dejectedly from his wrists, and when he released him, the man crumpled at his feet.

“Straighten up now, and turn round, I want to admire my handiwork.” Malfoy prompted, nudging Harry with the thick handle.

Still sniffling and trying to compose himself, Harry rose on his knees and turned his back as instructed. Another nudge from the butt-end of the whip, and his fingers laced over the back of his neck. 

“Mmmmm,” Draco sighed. “Now there’s a sight to behold.” He leaned forward and let one finger press along the length of the longest welt that ended just above the cleft of Potter’s arse. Harry yelped and tried not to convulse his body away from the touch.

“You know,” Malfoy said conversationally as he tucked the whip away in a nearby trunk. “I believe this suite has quite a rather large bathtub…” He straightened and began unbuttoning his shirt on his way past Harry again. “Go draw the water, and then, I’ll let you bathe me…”


	10. Chapter 10

In the morning, Harry woke on the floor and soon after was wordlessly prompted into the bathroom by Malfoy. He sat in the tub while it filled, and then allowed himself the luxury of a brief soak. The welts on his back stung from the hot water, but it relaxed his muscles enough that it was tolerable.

In the meanwhile, Draco had disappeared, and it seemed he wasn’t in a mood to bother Harry this morning. In fact, Harry thought he heard him humming to himself as he rounded the corner.

It wasn’t until Harry’s stomach rumbled again that he realized the air was filling with the aroma of bacon. His mouth watered, and though he promised himself that he was going to steel his nerves and refuse breakfast again if needs be, Harry soon found himself pulling the plug on the drain. He clambered over the side of the tub and spent more time appropriately drying himself. Malfoy had even laid out a comb, and Harry was sure to use it on his damp, but not dripping hair.

By the time he crawled out to the table, Malfoy had already started breakfast without him. He didn’t acknowledge Harry’s presence, and instead flipped the pages of a local paper. It was covered with a strange alphabet, and briefly Harry wondered if Malfoy was capable of reading it, or if he was merely attempting to look intelligent.

Harry’s eyes followed Draco’s hand each time it moved a bit of food to his mouth. His mouth was watering and his stomach rubbing almost painfully inside of him, gurgling. He decided that if Malfoy offered him something this morning, he would take it. But only because he hadn’t eaten in more than a day, and he needed to keep his strength up, after all….

After several minutes, Draco was still ignoring him, and Harry began to grow frustrated. Hey, you bloody git, I’m here and I want some damn food, already! He thought, eyebrows narrowing. Another few minutes passed, and though he’d cleared his throat and the grumble of his belly was probably loud enough that that next door neighbors could hear it, he’d not been acknowledged. But then, Harry thought he saw the faintest movement, Draco’s hand in his lap shifted back and forth. He could have been scratching an itch, or he could have been encouraging Harry closer.

Harry took his chances and inched nearer, and finally setting aside all of his pride, he lowered his forehead until it touched the fabric of Draco’s black trousers. Malfoy’s hand moved up and turned the page of the paper, but when it settled down, it did so atop Harry’s head. He fingered the damp locks for a long minute, and Harry turned his cheek against Malfoy’s thigh. He earned himself a brief caress, then Malfoy lifted his hand away. He folded the paper and set it aside, leaning forward. He retrieved a bowl and balanced it carefully as he lowered it toward the floor.

“Don’t slurp it,” He advised Harry, picking up his paper again.

Harry’s eyes shot downward, and he eyed the bowl of milk that had been placed. The he slid off of Malfoy’s lap and onto all fours. He tried to lap it up like a kitten, the way he thought Malfoy might want him to, but his tongue wasn’t designed to carry liquids to his mouth that way. After a minute of messy frustration, he pursed his lips and stuck his face half in the bowl, sucking mouthful after mouthful of the cool milk. Finally, the level lowered sufficiently that he was afraid another draught might make a slurping noise. He sat back on his heels to find Malfoy holding his linen out. When Harry reached for it, Malfoy wordlessly drew it away, offering it out again only when Harry tucked his hands back down by his sides. Blushing, Harry leaned forward and let Malfoy clean his face for him.

It seemed Malfoy was finished eating, but slowly offered Harry the remnants on his plate. The broken bits of hard-boiled egg, the tail end of a pastry studded with poppy seeds, and finally, the long anticipated bacon. After Harry had taken the crisped meat from his fingers, Malfoy continued to hold his hand out. Harry chewed and swallowed, and then noted the digits were coated with a glistening layer of bacon grease. He inched forward, eyeing Draco, who seemed to be paying him no mind, and began to lap the remaining flavor from his skin. Long after the fingers were clean, Malfoy’s hand remained outstretched, though he’d twisted his palm upward. Harry became single-mindedly invested in his task and began to clean the whole hand. 

When his tongue hit the pale flesh of Draco’s wrist, the man gave a sudden hitching sigh that made Harry take notice. He paused, green eyes flickering upward, and noticed that Malfoy’s paper was half crumpled in his spare hand, though his eyes were clenched shut as tightly as his jaw.

“I didn’t say ‘stop’,” Malfoy warned lowly, just as Harry’s eyes wandered down to the obvious ridge in his Master’s trousers.

Harry ducked his head and sucked all of Draco’s thumb into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the digit as if it were a cock.

“Mmmm,” Draco conceded briefly, but then in an instant was on his feet. He hauled Potter up before he could scramble too far away from him, and backed him briskly toward the bed. Harry’s toes barely scraped the floor, and he grasped tightly to Draco’s biceps. His mouth kept opening and then closing, because he wanted to protest but kept thinking better of it. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he?

Malfoy hauled him up and tossed him onto the mattress where he bounced a moment. Then Harry watched as Malfoy wrenched his belt out of his trousers, flinching when it whipped toward him. But then the leather dropped carelessly to the floor and the man was shoving his trousers down with equal haste. Before Harry even had a moment to appreciate even the thick, purpling cock-head, Draco had climbed up the length of his body to kneel over his chest.

“Get it open,” He commanded, feeding his dick into Potter’s mouth even as he said the words.

Harry tried to prop himself up on one elbow. He needed to lift his shoulders up before he could tilt his head into a better angle so that he might swallow-rather than choke on-Malfoy’s cock, which was currently battering the back of his throat. He managed to make a strangled sound, and Draco yanked him up, tucking one hand behind his neck.

Malfoy shifted forward a few inches on his knees, then drove straight down Harry’s throat. After a minute, Harry stopped trying to facilitate a blow job, and just let Malfoy fuck his face. He tightened his grip on Draco’s thighs and tried to breath through his nose, which was proving difficult with the distracting slap of bollocks against his chin and the crush of pubic hair that tickled his nostrils. Luckily, it wasn’t long that he had to deal with that dilemma.

The first spurt of hot semen nearly choked him again, but then Harry found his swallowing rhythm.

“Fuck. Fuck, Potter.” Malfoy gasped and drew backward, then held his softening penis out to be cleaned. “I’ll bet you could suck the silver off of Gryffindor’s sword…” Draco’s voice was still husky and his eyes were half-lidded with his spent lust as he paid this compliment.

Harry kept licking, though for the first time, felt a sort of pride along with his embarrassment, and he dared a glance upward to gauge Malfoy’s state of dishevelment before finishing his task.

Afterward, Malfoy spelled himself truly clean (he could never stand the feeling of drying spittle anywhere on his body), then stood at the end of the bed pulling his trouser legs inside right as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to do, and as though losing his composure entirely because of Potter’s mouth on his fingers was a daily occurrence. The longer he thought about it, the more he became secretly ashamed of his actions. His father would never have done something like that. If anything, he might have opened his pants where he sat and let the fiend do his work…but Draco, himself, had an extreme distaste for soiling the sanctity of the supper table. Even one at a traveler’s Inn, where he would likely never dine again. 

In the meanwhile, Harry lay on the mattress with his eyes closed, willing away his own painful erection. It had been nearly a week since he’d been directly stimulated, and he was aching for release. Though, the thought of Draco driving him to such a culmination was nearly torture for his brain, it was fodder for his cock. He longed to press it downward and hide it behind his robes the way he had in Hogwarts. No, better yet, to take it in his hand and work it frantically until he sent a hot jet of-

“Sweet Salazar, you lazy beast. Get out of bed and get dressed, and then get the trunks down to the carriage. If it weren’t for your mouth, you’d have no worth at all…”

Draco’s chastisement brought Harry out of his fantasy world, and the dark haired man scrambled off the mattress with a lowered head.

“Yes, Master. My apologies, Master.” Red faced, he donned the clothes Malfoy flung at him, and took to his task.

 

Fucking Potter. Draco thought to himself as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He waved his wand to restyle his hair and took several deep breaths, hoping the flush on his neck and chest would go away before he made his appearance downstairs. It wouldn’t do for him to present himself in such a flustered state. And then, two small dots of color appeared on his cheeks as well, as he reminded himself that they were three days in to this escapade and he hadn’t even taken advantage of Potter’s….other uses. Oh, but that mouth of his was almost too good to pass up. It was like going to a restaurant for the first time, and ordering a dish that proved amazing, so much so that each time you returned for a meal, you cared nothing for the remainder of the menu and ordered the same thing time and again. He would never tire of it, there was no way. Harry Potter was meant for sucking cock….this thought made him grin wryly. How many times had he given his crotch a jiggle in the hallways of Hogwarts and thought exactly that? Suck it, Potter. And now he was. Maybe the old adage was true…good things come to those who wait…

He felt a presence behind him and looked into the mirror.

“Potter!” He whirled to face him. “You’ve finished with the trunks then? Let’s go… I daresay you’ve made us late to start.”


	11. Chapter 11

Days passed with more of the same. Draco had finished his potions text hours earlier and tossed it aside with a sigh. Potter, sleeping with his body propped against the wall of the carriage, hadn’t stirred. Malfoy scowled in frustration to himself. Potter was driving him absolutely out of his mind. In fact, the last five days had been so tedious, that he was sure whole years had been shaved off of his life, from the sheer stress of it alone.

‘Get a traveling companion,’ His father had said. ‘Get someone you can talk to,’ His father had said. ‘Men your age need a cohort that can attend to all of their needs’. And who was he coming home with? Harry Sodding Potter. Who failed to meet any of those requirements.

The nightly beatings had quelled Potter’s rebelliousness, sure. But the Gryffindor, always one for self-preservation, was learning not to fight Draco, and frankly, that had stripped any joy he’d garnered out of punishing Harry completely away. It was becoming more and more difficult to come up with sound reasons to punish him so harshly. It was clear that Potter had, on some level, a penchant for pain and humiliation. But Draco had been routinely pushing him far past that, leaving him reduced to a quaking, sobbing mess at his feet, and there was nothing alluring about that.

Draco was not feeling vindicated for his past so much as he was entirely frustrated about the whole situation. In fact, the only thing grating his nerves about Potter today, was that he had started to take on that glazed look to his eyes and the automaton-like responses that some of his father’s kidnapped slaves had. Those types were often ignored for days because they lacked passion, and brought out only to be abused for Lucius’ pleasure. The poor sods lived a miserable existence as the worst sort of chattel.

Fuck.

The more Draco thought on this, the more he realized that he had been treating Harry exactly the same way that his father had treated those other slaves, for which he felt so much distaste. And it was no wonder then, that he’d given little thought to consummating his slave properly, when the only pleas coming from his mouth were to stop, stop, stop, and the thing that turned him on the most was having a writhing body in front of him, begging for more, more, more.

His prick began to stir at the thought of having Harry Potter like that; a wanton scrap of flesh eager to grant his every desire. Yes, that would certainly make up for the day Potter’d so callously rejected his own hand, extended in friendship, and in front of Crabbe, Goyle, and the Weasel. Well, how do you like me now? Draco thought to himself. Want me now, don’t you? Yesssss. That would be most satisfactory.

A soft groan stirred him from his thoughts, he his eyes shifted over to his still sleeping slave. Potter was still often embarrassed by his body’s reaction under Draco’s hands, and the man looked good with a little color in his pale cheeks….

With a sly smile, Malfoy readjusted himself, then slid his body over to occupy the other half of the bench seat that Harry was on. The brunette sighed, but didn’t stir. Draco dropped his hand to the man’s knee and ran his fingertips gently up the inside of his thigh.

“Hmmmm,” Harry made a low noise and shifted his body slightly, drawing his legs apart more widely.

Draco watched Potters face as he trailed his fingers back down, and then up again. His touch became more emboldened, and on the third downward stroke, danced his fingers along the length of Harry’s burgeoning erection. It was the first time he’d touched it, he realized. And the skin was just as warm and velvety as any others. He slid his hand down beneath it, cupping his fingers to heft the weight of it, and found himself thinking, among other things, that it really wasn’t a half-bad cock at all. A bead of translucent fluid pearled at the tip, and Draco ran his thumb over it, leaving a shiny smear across the head of Harry’s prick in it’s wake.

Harry came awake with a quick intake of air just as his hips came off the bench, his cock aching and trying to follow some phantom touch, he assumed. It had been so long since it had been paid any attention, and was likely ready to give in to whatever erotic display was playing in his brain while he slept. But long ago, Harry had learned that it was best to rouse oneself from sleep before the culmination of the dream, rather than to be woken up after the fleeting moment was over and one was left in the drying, sticky spunk of one’s own emission.

Shit. He thought to himself. Malfoy was probably over there staring at him like he was some kind of idiot. Harry straightened and balled his fists against his eyes, then wiped his face to be sure he hadn’t drooled on himself. He drew his knees closer together so that his posture wasn’t so ungainly, and then began forcing himself to think about McGongall and Snape, naked together, in an concerted effort to make the throbbing tension in his groin go away. He even let his head fall backward against the wall behind him.

“Don’t close yourself to me,” Draco said firmly, landing his hand back down mid-thigh and wrenching Harry’s legs apart. He watched with an amused smirk while Harry physically jumped in his seat and his eyes flew open.

“I…I…I…” He stammered while his cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. Malfoy had been touching him? While he slept? Was this a first time, or had it happened before? He couldn’t be sure.

“I believe the words you’re looking for are, ‘I’m sorry, Master. It won’t happen again’,” Draco prompted, resuming his ministrations.

“Mmmm,” He sighed as Malfoy pinched the taut skin just under the head of his cock and pulled. “Oh! I mean, I…”

“I’m sorry Master…” Draco led again, rather patiently as he smeared more of Potter’s own pre-come over the bulb-y reddening head.

“I’m s-sorry Master,” Harry parroted, his eyes snapping shut again as a tingle of pleasure shot through him.

“It won’t happen again…” He wrapped all of his fingers around Harry’s shaft and pumped it slowly.

“W-won’t ha-Ahh-pen again!” Harry’s pitch shot up in the middle of his statement as his hips snapped up again of their own accord. His fingers gripped the edge of the bench tightly. Oh, Merlin. Was this really happening?

“Good.” Malfoy said perfunctorily, and released his hand from Harry, then moved back to his side of the carriage. “See to it that it doesn’t.” He reached for his book again, and opened it to some random page. He pretended to read, though lowered it sufficiently that he could watch Potter squirm over the tops of the pages. And what a sight that was. Red-faced, white-knuckled, chest heaving lightly, cock straining, face a mask of concentration…

How do you like me now? He thought again to himself, the corner of his mouth quirking up. By the end of the night, I’ll have you begging for me, you pompous shit. Savior of the world, my arse…

 

Harry knew it would happen eventually, and was frankly surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner, but he was dreading encounter this evening threatened to bring. Malfoy kept casually manhandling his bits, easily manipulating them into a full state of attention, and then backing off with a devilish glint in his eyes. Harry knew this game too. Eventually, he wasn’t going to be able to contain himself any longer.

Dinner went as usual, followed by a sound paddling, and afterwards, Draco took a long shower. It was time enough for Harry to compose himself, he thought, anyway. Malfoy emerged from his shower looking refreshed and amused, and entirely starkers. He strutted across the floor to where Harry stood, by the bed, looking out the only window in the room. 

The sky was dark and the moon was large and bright in the sky. It wasn’t quite yet full, but it was nights like these that Harry began to think of Remus. He was so deep in thought and memory that he didn’t notice Malfoy until he was too close, coming behind him and bracing his arms on the sill on either side of Harry, preventing him from escape.

“Thinking of running away?” His voice was low in Harry’s left ear, and his breath tickled him.

“N-no, of course not, Master.” Harry stammered uneasily. It wasn’t exactly a lie, he wasn’t thinking of running away from Draco as much as he had been contemplating the freedoms-and tragedies- of taking on lupine form. But running fast and hard through the low brush had crossed his mind a time or two.

“Good.” Malfoy replied perfunctorily. He ran his palms around Potter’s waist and over his hips, one hand continuing further to take up Harry’s prick and caress it, almost absently. “Because I think I’ve finally figured out what to do with you.”

So much for composure. Harry’s cock was lengthening and hardening at the barest of touches. His fingers tightened on the window sill, as his eyes fluttered closed.

“Would you like me to fuck you, Potter?” This whisper came in Harry’s right ear, Malfoy’s lips so close that he could feel them brush against his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

No! Harry wanted to scream, though a small voice inside him somewhere voiced a tiny, yes, but then with his entire body, he wanted to revolt. He did not want Draco Biggest Git in the World Malfoy inside of him, fucking him, no matter what it entailed. He clamped his mouth shut even as a noise rose in the back of his throat and gave one shake of his head, afraid that words might betray him in this moment.

“No?” The surprise in Malfoy’s voice was a facetious show. That Harry would refute him was all part of the game. He grinned to himself and tightened his fist, pumping with slow deliberation. “That’s too bad, because I had intended to make an evening out of it. Let me know if you change your mind.”

Breathing through his nose wasn’t helping Harry at all. It only made him sound as if he were hyperventilating, and did little to contain his sounds of pleasure, which became low hums through his pressed lips. He struggled to still his hips, which wanted to pump madly against the teasing touches Malfoy was offering.

Harry gasped and hung his head lowly when Draco finally moved away. He hoped that he had tired of the game, but was soon proved otherwise when Malfoy turned him by his shoulder. He pointed his wand downward, and then that wrapped-in-cotton sensation came over his erection, muffling the sensations just enough that it would let an orgasm build and build, but never provide any release. Harry whimpered softly.

“Say that you want me to fuck you, Potter. I want to hear you beg for my cock…” Draco said smugly, licking his lips.

“No,” Harry managed to whisper. He decided instead that maybe he could hold out, and Malfoy would take him anyway. After all, it was his right as master. Harry would not beg for something he didn’t truly want.

“Pity.” Draco said simply and turned him back to the window. This time, he stepped closer, and pressed his own erection into the crack of Potter’s ass.

Harry stiffened, but didn’t make a sound.

“Oh, relax.” Malfoy hissed, his hand coming around again, resuming it’s ministrations. “I’m not going to fuck you, until you ask for it. But in the meantime, I thought I’d remind you what you were missing out on.” He shifted his hips, rubbing himself between Potter’s cheeks without penetrating his hole. Malfoy’s pre-come came quickly and copiously in the delicious cleft of friction, and slicked the skin of them both enough that he was able to make a few easy, gliding thrusts. The head of his cock brushed against the tender flesh of Harry’s entrance, making it clench, and the both of them groaned.

“Come on now, Potter.” Malfoy’s breath started to hitch as he cajoled. “You want this as much as I do, more, probably. You know I’m not going to stop until you give in, so you might as well…”

“Just do it, already!” Harry parried back, his hips pressing backward so that Malfoy’s cock would stroke him just so, again. And then he felt fingers raking up his torso and tightening vice-like on his left nipple, twisting it. He spasmed and sucked in a breath.

It was taking all of Draco’s self restraint not to jerk the man by his harness and bend him over. On some miniscule level, it might be amusing to take his former nemesis against his will. After all, he was nothing but property to be used. But early contemplations had already led him to the conclusion that satisfaction was not to be had unless Potter was pleading for it. “Beg me.” Draco reiterated. If Potter didn’t crumble soon, he was going to have to do the cock-blocking spell on himself.

“Ah, fuck.” Harry swore, trying again to still the insistent shimmying of his hips, and failing.

Malfoy pinched and rolled his other nipple, and Harry felt his reserve crumbling. Draco lowered his mouth the crook of Harry’s neck and sucked the skin into his mouth, worrying it slightly with his teeth. Another minute of this, and Potter was panting, pressing his whole body into Draco’s touch. His hands, his cock, and now, his mouth...it was too much. Too much for a young man in the prime of his life to deny.

“Oh, please.” Harry breathed.

Malfoy stopped almost at once, lifting his head. “Did you say something?”

“Please…just…give it to me.” Even resigned now, Harry did not want to say those words.

“Give what?”

“Your cock. Your glorious cock.”

Draco smirked and almost laughed. “Glorious now, is it? Buttering me up, are you, Potter?” His hand started to stroke again. “Tell me you want it.”

“Oh, fuck. I need it!” Harry admitted.

“I know. But tell me you want it.”

Damn Malfoy if he wasn’t the most petulant bugger.

“Fuck, Malf-“ Harry caught himself just in time, he hoped. “Er. Master. Please! I…I want to you…”

“Yes?” Draco rolled his thumb over the head of Harry’s cock, pushing the slit open, then teased the underside of it.

“Oh bloody hell. Fuck me already, will you?”

“As you wish.” Draco triumphed as he pulled Potter from the window, and gave him a shove toward the mattress. “Get up on the bed.”

Harry scrambled onto all fours on top of the coverlet. Malfoy smacked his still-red arse with an open palm and gave him another push.

“On your back, Potter. I want you looking at me while I fuck you. I want your eyes on mine. I want you to know who you belong to, not fantasizing about someone else.”

Harry’s face reddened, because that was exactly what he had planned on doing. Pretending it was Ivan doing it to him would have made everything a thousand times better, but no. Malfoy was too clever.

The blond fisted himself with a palmful of conjured lube, then slicked the remnants into Harry’s cleft, pushing two fingers inside of him unceremoniously, and for the purpose of greasing the way, alone.

Potter writhed on the coverlet while Malfoy positioned himself, one hand still tugging Harry’s cock roughly.

“Master, please!” Harry whined impatiently. Now that he had resigned himself to this, there was no turning back. He felt like he had sold his soul to the devil, and he hoped it was one hell of a lay in return.

Malfoy laughed breathlessly. “Eager for it now, are we, Potter?” He pushed himself inside of Harry with one swift stroke, and the brunette arched his back off the mattress with a heady groan. “Like it rough, do you? Lucky for you, I’m happy to accommodate.” 

Draco’s hips set a brisk pace that had Harry fisting the sheets, and he had to remind the man more than once to look at him. But, it was a struggle to keep his own steely grey eyes open and focused on Potter, when he needed all of his concentration to hold off his own orgasm. The long wank he’d had in the shower immediately before hand wasn’t helping him any. For all that it was worth, Potter had managed to make him come undone, again.

“Mmmph, uh…nnngh…ah, please!”

Malfoy was grateful for this chance to stop. He pushed his cock in to the hilt inside Harry’s pulsing warmth, and took a moment to catch his breath. “Did you want something, Potter?”

“Please… I want to…I need to…” He panted, indicating his throbbing erection with a tip of his head.

“This?” Malfoy wrapped his fingers around the organ and pumped, eliciting a squeal and a nod from Potter. His own eyes fluttered shut as Potter’s hole clenched and flexed around him. He summoned his wand from the floor where it had fallen to the wayside-such a disgraceful way for one to treat their wand, but there was no time to think on that now. “You know what I want from you,” Draco murmured.

There was no hesitation from Harry this time. Please, Master, please let me come for you!”

“Very well.” Malfoy’s fingers tightened on his wand and he tipped it downward. “When you come, I want to hear you scream my name. Got it?”

“Mmmhm,” Harry nodded in agreement, and started to rock himself on Draco’s length, panting, “Master, master, master…”

“No, you brainless git.” Malfoy said between clenched teeth. Damn Potter and his hot, tight arse. He took Potter’s neck his hand, forcing the head currently lolling about wantonly on the mattress to angle toward him. “My name. I want to hear my name from your mouth. Draco. Got it now?”

“Mmhmm, Draco.” Harry’s eyes had slipped shut as he worked himself on the hard cock inside of him. He was so close now to getting what he wanted, needed, he would have agreed to anything.

Malfoy rolled his hips backward and then thrust in again, building his pace back up. When he knew he could barely stand it a minute more, he released the spell holding Potter back. The words had barely crossed his lips, commanding Potter to come, and then he was, thrashing, hips snapping, moaning. His hands came up and he pulled Malfoy down into him, hard. “Fuck, oh, fuck, Draco. Draco, Draco, dracodracodracodracodraco!” He cried out until his spasms had subsided and he could collapse back against the coverlet, panting.

Harry hadn’t even realized that he had pulled Malfoy down on top of him, or that Draco had sank his teeth into Harry’s shoulder as he came with the rhythmic clenching of the man’s muscular walls, or that Malfoy’s fingers were biting into his upper arms.

“Sweet Salazar Slytherin,” Draco whispered to himself, pressing his face into Harry’s neck and inhaling his scent. He bit him again, giving his head a tiny shake, and reveling in the gasp that Harry let out. Finally, he pulled himself free of Potter’s devilish charms and pushed him away with a command to go clean himself.

“Potter?” He said before the man had gone too far, and swiping himself clean with his own wand.

“Yes, Master?” Harry’s voice was soft and reserved once more.

“I always knew one day I’d stick it to you. I just never dreamed it would be literally.” Malfoy smirked as Harry blushed and ducked his head. Then he waved his hand at his slave. “Get on with it then. Tomorrow, we ride to Delphi, and see the Oracle.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I can’t bloody well take you out in public looking like that.” Draco indicated to Harry with a nod of his head as he withdrew his wand. Harry’s grey trousers, transfigured from a woolen blanket a week ago (Had it been such a short time since he’d been in Romania, with Ivan? It felt like ages.) were wrinkled and sad looking, and the same or worse could be said for his shirt.

Harry flinched at the motion. It was always unnerving to have a wand pointed at your person, no matter the spell likely to come from it. Malfoy smirked at him and made an elaborate show of waving his wand about before simply changing Harry’s clothing to pressed black trousers and a black dress t-shirt.

“Load the trunks, and do try not to make a mess of yourself. When we get in the carriage, you can leave the clothes on for once. We should arrive by mid morning, and after our appointment, if you can behave yourself, we’ll stop for something to eat. Hmmmm, fresh baklava,” Draco mused to himself with a dreamy look on his face. “Fresh, in Greece? I’ve never had it better.”

 

 

Harry had never been to see The Oracle, and after his experiences with Professor Trelawney, harbored doubts about the capabilities for anyone to see into the future. He hadn’t remembered Malfoy being too impressed with her either, but he seemed eager to get to the Oracle, and as they neared, he found out why.

“Father says,” Draco began, staring out the window and not at Harry, as though refusing to acknowledge him with eye contact meant that the conversation was happening with someone else. “That the most important trip one can make as a wizard coming of age, is to see The Oracle at Delphi.”

That Malfoy was addressing him with something other than a command or insult immediately piqued Harry’s interest. He leaned forward, eyes on the blond, and Malfoy continued.

“She can tell you if you’re on the right path, or how to get there. Signs to look for. Dangers to bypass in order for you to meet your destiny. Father thinks it’s time to settle down and take on a wife. In fact, he’s already started negotiating with the Greengrass family.” Draco rubbed his finger on the glass pane and bit his lip. “Astoria is still at Hogwarts for another few years yet. Hell, she’s just a kid, really. And I don’t want the responsibility of a family yet. I-“ Malfoy seemed to realize that he was blabbering on about his personal affairs, and to Harry Potter, of all people, because he suddenly clammed up and shut his mouth.

After a long minute, he finally said, “Well, it’s none of your concern, really.”

Harry knew better than to say anything. He gave a faint nod, and turned his head out the window. Who would have known that Draco Malfoy was not his father’s puppet after all? Harry had long thought him to be a snot-nosed aristocrat with his head so far up his father’s arse that there was no delineating hips of one from shoulders of the other. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

 

The worst part of going to see the Oracle was navigating Muggle traffic. They’d left the carriage behind at a secure place, and apparated to the location at Delphi itself. And the place was full of Muggle tourists. The stereotypical Asian groups dressed in khaki’s and white shirts, with their funny still-picture cameras dangling from their necks…hoards of elderly Muggles, huffing and puffing, and complaining about the hike to the top…school aged children led by tour guides, prompting them about learning simple Greek phrases… “Kalimera”, “Kalispera”, and “Kalinikta”…

The distaste on Draco’s face was plain. Luckily for them both, while everyone else was hiking up the turn-style path on their way to the amphitheatre or to see the ruins of the sanctuary of Athena Pronaia, the two of them were able to cut sideways through the rubble and patchy grass to a reconstructed temple. 

When the last of the lingering tourists had gone, Draco pulled his wand from his shirt sleeve. He had been counting the stones while others snapped their pictures, and now wasted no time in locating exactly the one he needed. He tapped seven times- seven being Apollo’s number, and Apollo the original God who instituted the tradition of The Oracle- and stood back, unconsciously holding his breath. There was no guarantee that The Oracle would admit him today or any other, fussy thing that she was.

But, there came a subtle rumble, and a narrow opening appeared, just long enough for the two young men to squeeze past before sealing the way again, preventing any wayward tourists from discovering that The Oracle at Delphi was not ancient history. Though, it was not the be said that the Greeks didn’t hold tightly to their traditions, no.

The chamber was decorated with loose drapes of fabric, shallow bowls heaped with fruit and other gifts, decanters of wine, and aged pottery. The Oracle, herself, was a slender young women who appeared to be around the age of thirty, with shoulder-length blond hair, and clouded blue eyes. The laurel wreath around her temples was impeccably placed, and did not slip as she turned her head toward the two young men in her presence. With a slim hand, she smoothed the folds of the flowing, white tunic she wore.

“The dragon comes at last, and brings with him, a lion.” Her voice was musical, and her smile, unreadable. 

Draco tipped his head in acknowledgement, which confused Harry, because for all that he could tell, The Oracle was blind.

“Come,” She said. “You have brought me gifts.”

And the two of them approached her slowly, Harry flanking Draco and trying his best to mirror the young man who seemed to know what he was doing. From the inner pocket of his blazer, Malfoy withdrew three phials, and held them up one by one. The Oracle reached her fingers out, barely touching the smooth glass walls, and nodded, naming the contents of each. “Dust from an Elven tomb…tears of a Djinn…and the blood of a two headed Dragon.”

Harry stared in awe. Where had Malfoy managed to procure such rarities? The Malfoy wealth was vast, but their influences and ties had diminished since Voldemort had been vanquished some years ago.

“And of yourself?” The Oracle questioned Draco.

Draco was caught off guard. He had not anticipated such a request, but it was not outside his realm of understanding of The Oracle, and her rumored whims. With the barest of hesitation, Malfoy drew off his Slytherin class ring, tipping the green stone with it’s silver band in the light, watching it glint. He placed it into her waiting palm with a small amount of reluctance, Harry could see that much in his posture.

The Oracle slid the circlet over her middle finger, and though Malfoy himself had slender digits, the ring was far too large. The heavy stone slid downward, palm-side. “And him. What has he brought?”

Malfoy paled and cast his eyes toward Harry, who could only stare wide-eyed in return. “He? He has nothing, Great Seer.”

“Surely he has something of worth.” 

Draco thought he could see amusement play on her pretty, pink lips.

“Not even the clothes on his back belong to him,” Malfoy tried to explain, eyes flashing at Harry. Do something! He commanded silently at his subordinate.

Harry’s mind had been racing all the while as he tried to think of something to appease the demanding fortune teller. If he screwed this up for Malfoy, it was he who would certainly pay. Suddenly, he felt to his knees on the stones, prostrating himself before her the way he would to any master, or mistress.

“Anything you may request of me, Great Seer, I will do my best to grant it.” Draco was right, aside from words and promises, he had nothing.

“You may light my incense, in the corner.” The Oracle said with a nod of approval, tucking the phials that Malfoy had offered away in a fold of her wrap, and twisting his ring on her finger around and around. As Harry scrambled off to do her bidding, Malfoy sighed in relief. Potter had managed not to fuck things up for him, for once. The Oracle was going to look into the future for him.

She moved gracefully up a short row of stairs and seated herself on a low stool near the wall that held a burning sconce. She tucked an escaped lock of hair behind one ear and bowed her head. “What is it that you wish to know, my Serpentine guest?”

Draco lifted his chin and stared into the Oracle’s clouded blue eyes. “Tell me if I’m on the right path to aligning with my destiny.”

As the Oracle’s unseeing gaze locked with Draco’s, she began to rock slightly in her seat, lips pressed together. A low, barely audible hum escaped her. Then, as suddenly as she started, her movements stopped. “The Golden One is within reach, but the course must change if the Seeker is to get the Snitch.”

Malfoy frowned, trying to sort the puzzle out in his head. “And my father?” he questioned.

“The decision will make one man happy, and cause the other much grief.”

Draco slumped dejectedly, certain he had already figured out the meaning behind her words. To him, it was clear.

The Oracle swiveled toward Harry. “And the Champion? What would you ask the Great Oracle of Delphi?”

Malfoy scowled at this moniker, and Harry flushed.

“Is there any knowledge the Great Seer would bestow upon me?”

“A wise man’s question indeed.” The woman responded, drawing another grimace from Draco. “Only this: Staying put will lead you forward, while moving on will take you back.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown. The message was entirely cryptic and made no sense at all. But by then, the Oracle had turned her back to them both, and the rumbling of the stones was their cue to take leave.

They had barely made it out of the temple, when Draco took Harry tightly by the elbow. He had no sooner escorted the man around the back of the reconstructed ruins, then he disapparated the both of them back to the waiting carriage.

Despite his now dour mood, Malfoy made good on his promise of taking Harry out to lunch.

“Sit. In the chair.” Draco was sure to clarify as soon as possible, because Potter’s face was cherry red as he eyed their maitre d’. Harry had just dropped gratefully into his seat and picked up the menu that had been left for him when Malfoy whisked it out of his hand and pushed it flat down on the table top. “Don’t bother. Merlin, tell me you were never taught on public etiquette in this sort of arrangement?”

Malfoy’s delicate dance around words told Harry that they were in a place that called for discretion. Green eyes flared for a moment, but he managed to swallow his snarky retort just in time. The waiter had arrived with bottled water and goblets, which he began to pour.

“Parla Italiano?” Draco questioned, and when the young dark haired man shook his head, tried again. “Vous parlez français?"

“Oui.”

 

A rapid-fire conversation ensued, with Draco holding up the menu, pointing to different items, and gesturing between Harry and himself. Finally, he closed the bill and handed it off.

“What’s your problem, Potter? You look like a blast-ended skrewt just went off in your glass.”

“How many languages do you speak?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Four,” Malfoy replied matter-of-factly. “Romanian, Italian, French, and the Queen’s own. You?”

“Er…one. And a half.”

“I’d say with the English and Romanian combined, you’ve got a grasp on two halves.” He reached for his glass and took a genteel sip, but when Harry moved to do the same, Draco rapped his knuckles with the blunt end of his knife. The cutlery was back in place before Harry could wince.

“Ow!” He whispered, rubbing his right hand with his left.”

“I don’t recall hearing you ask for permission.” Malfoy replied casually. “And put your linen in your lap. This isn’t a cafeteria.”

A flush rose in Harry’s cheeks again, and he did as he was told, mumbling a low agreement. “Mightn’t I have some water…master?”

“Certainly.” Malfoy conceded, taking another draught of his own. 

 

 

“That’ll be five strokes for staring, Potter.” Malfoy chastised, just before their salads arrived. Draco had fallen into a contemplative silence, gaze cast across the eatery, and Harry couldn’t help but train his eyes on the troubled blond man.

Harry lowered his gaze at once to his folded hands in his lap.

“Potter.” Draco finally said. “Fork, knife. Chew, swallow. For the love of all that is magical, humor me today and play your part without being such a bloody pain in my arse.”

 

Inwardly, Harry rolled his eyes. Pleasing Malfoy was a guessing game, and he was certain that his master would always find a way to make him lose.   
Nevertheless, watching Draco suck the sticky honey off his own fingers when the last of the dessert pastry was gone made Harry almost regret that they weren't dining in the privacy of their own suite. If only Malfoy wasn't such a....Malfoy.


	13. Chapter 13

After lunch, they’d done some touring of the ruins, and Harry was impressed, although Draco seemed rather blasé about the whole ordeal because he’d seen them before. In fact, he was rather distracted by The Oracle’s prediction, and though Harry had dismissed the entire encounter as a lark, Malfoy had taken her words to heart.

They had been wandering around the Coliseum, and while Harry was marveling at the ancient structure, Draco was unconsciously pulling the threads out of the bottom hem of his shirt, twisting them tightly around his right index finger. It wasn’t until the tip of the digit went entirely numb and blue with cold that he realized what he’d been doing. And then, well, then he moved to disapparate so quickly that he nearly left Harry behind.

“Potter!” Malfoy barked so loudly that several nearby tourists looked in their direction. Harry scurried to his side, but now that eyes were on them, they had to find another location. Harry felt himself jerked around the side of the wall, and Malfoy gave but a cursory glance before transporting them both out of the place.

 

Their hotel for the night was rather opulent, and more of what Harry had always expected would be Malfoy’s taste. There was a large marble-lined lobby with guilded accents, and bellhops in uniform. As Draco accepted the note containing the private password that would key them in and out of their warded room that was slid across the countertop to him by the concierge, he leaned forward.

“Be sure to send up a bottle of your best firewhiskey, and don’t delay.” His voice was low and even toned, flat with a hard edge. 

Harry wanted to shrink away from his side because the tone of his master’s voice told of the mood brewing inside of him, but didn’t dare do so for fear of any repercussions. 

“Yes, of course, Mister Malfoy. It will be waiting for you when you arrive.” The concierge replied with a thick Greek accent, and tipped his head. As soon as Malfoy had turned his back, the man gestured to one of his assistants, who transfigured into a mouse, and scurried into a small hole under the desk that served as the entrance to a vast network of tunnels to the kitchen, the bar, and the laundry, among other places inside the hotel.

The bellhops had already taken care of their luggage, and Harry had nothing to do but scurry after Malfoy, trying to keep up with his brisk stride. By the time they had determined which moving staircase to mount and ride to the appropriate floor, their luggage and the whiskey had been delivered to the suite.

Malfoy practically tore off his tie and threw it to the floor, then unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt. He was feeling flush already and hadn’t even savored a drop of the drink. He felt the impending tantrum rising in him, and sought to drown it in alcohol before it could manifest itself. After all, it was one thing to be an inebriated member of the social elite, but it was another to be a disreputable and childish member of the social elite.

Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest as he picked up the tie, and tried to anticipate what would come next. He moved toward the silver tray displaying a litre of Dragontorch firewhiskey, and a crystal vase overfilled with glittering, perfect cubes of ice. He indicated the tongs and a short glass. “Should I pour-”

Malfoy reached past him for the bottle and the glass, and tucked the whiskey under his arm. Striding away, he flicked his wand rather savagely and the French doors leading to the balcony swung open. 

“-you a drink?” Harry faltered and frowned.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Potter?” Malfoy’s tone was icy and the doors blew half-shut behind him. 

Through the crack in the door, Harry watched a pale and trembling hand splash amber fluid into the tumbler. The spicy aroma wafted back and made his nose-hairs prickle. Take the afternoon off? What did that mean to someone like him? Surely Malfoy didn’t mean him to leave, but in this state, he clearly wasn’t wanted close either.   
Careful to keep quiet, Harry began to examine every inch of the decadent rooms. He started with the sitting area, noting the potted plants, and the anatomically correct statues carved from alabaster. He couldn’t imagine sitting there with a chisel, chipping away at a stone with the intent of creating a perfect cock or perfect breasts. He found himself pressing his thumb against a pointy stone nipple, letting it bite into his skin. Maybe if women were hard like this, he’d like them better. But their soft, rounded curves and fleshy contours had never much appealed to him. How many afternoons had he suffered through listening to Ron giggle on and on about jubblies? In the beginning, his interest was piqued, but when Ron had brought some of Charlie’s old witchy-magazines back to Hogwarts with him, and they’d poured over them together, he realized that he wasn’t nearly half as interested in them as any of the other boys in the dorm.

Harry made his way through into the bedroom. There was a four-poster draped with wispy, sheer curtains that blew and tangled in the late summer breeze. A desk with a quill, and parchment with the hotel’s water mark... It had been a long time since he had written Ron and Hermione, and even longer since he’d drafted anything to anyone else. Surely they’d all hate him by now. This hadn’t worked out the way he planned. No, nothing had. He moved to the window and looked out over the landscape beyond. He could see the bustling city, faint outlines of the ruins, and beyond, the blue-green line of the sea. If he peered to the left, he could make out Malfoy on the balcony, idly levitating his empty glass up and down with waves of his wand, and drinking directly out of the bottle.

He straightened and moved away from the window, lest he was seen and incurred the wrath of his unpredictable master. Harry fingered the linen bedspread on his way past into the bathroom. A double sink with carved mermaid-adorned faucets was on one wall, along with a mirror that ran the full length of the room. Harry didn’t need to turn to see the sunken and bubbling hot tub, pre-filled and water rolling invitingly like the prefect’s bath at Hogwarts. The edges of the bath were scalloped and meant to look like crashing waves...  
Likewise, he could see a half-stone wall that demarcated a shower large enough to have an orgy in, and might have very well been designed for such a purpose, given that several shower heads sprouted from each of the walls and aimed into it. On further inspection, Harry found several large benches contained within the very same shower, in the shape of gigantic sea-shells. With amusement, Harry turned toward the loo to find out what kind of unnecesary adornments were there.

 

Fucking Astoria Greengrass.

Malfoy took another swig of whiskey from the bottle and let it roll around in his mouth, burning his gums and tongue before he swallowed. He thought of her wispy frame and long blonde hair, and she reminded him of his mother. From the way Daphne carried herself, he could only surmise that Astoria would be an equally prissy and cold bitch. The golden one indeed. More like the Frigid One. He snorted and took another drink. His only consolation was that her breasts were small and her hips were narrow, and if he took her from behind, he could pretend that she was a boy. As long as she kept her mouth shut.

But no, it wouldn’t do to treat his wife like that. And father had always said that boys were for fucking, anyway. Women were for families and making heirs…but how in Salazar Slytherin’s name was he supposed to do that, when then mere thought of kissing a woman, any woman, let alone Astoria, turned his stomach? Fuck. Why did life always have to be such a bloody conundrum?

Another swish of whiskey, and he felt it finally begin to wash over him. It was like his tangled ball of nerves physically loosened. It started behind his eyes and washed downward. The spicy heat began to melt his troubles and chase them into a dark corner to be relived another time.

Malfoy tucked the bottle between his thighs and took down the remaining buttons of his shirt, pushing the fabric off his arms because now it felt too tight. Too hot in the late afternoon, Mediterranean sun.

By the time he made his way back into the suit, the sun was setting and a chill had come over him. He nearly tripped over his slave, who was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor for some ungodly reason. He was still clothed in the black dress t-shirt and the fitted trousers he’d had the sense to dress him in that morning, and forgotten to tell him to remove. When dressed in clothes that properly fit, Harry Potter wasn’t such an ungainly sod after all. As he stared at the back of Potter's neck, with it's small curling hairs at the nape, he felt himself sway on his feet..

Surprise, surprise. Draco Malfoy had far too much to drink. So much so that he didn’t dare cast a sobering charm on himself, and given that Potter’s wand was locked away in a magical box that would only open when his contract was up, there was no one else to do it for him. So, onward to the next best thing. Draco caught a slim-muscled bicep in his hand and tugged at it. “Come on, Potter. We’re going to have a bath.”

Harry rose to his feet and his breath caught in his throat. The last vestiges of the burning sun in the background highlighted Malfoy’s tousled hair and trim, shirtless figure. Grey eyes were glassed and that ever-present smugness had been turned down by several notches. He noted that Malfoy's lips were as deeply pink as his cheeks, and with every breath, the scent of heavily spiced firewhiskey wafted toward him. On another occasion, he might have taken the liberty of sampling the flavor, but not here. Not now. He had no choice but to let Malfoy tug him into the expansive bathroom.

“Strip.” Draco commanded him, and Harry immediately pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it. He toed off his shoes, and then his trousers were down. Aside from his socks, he wore nothing but the harness, and the socks didn’t stick around for long.

“Now me.” Draco said, wavering slightly in place. When Harry neared, he looped his arms around the slave’s neck for balance and let himself be divested of trouser, shoes and undergarments. Well, it seemed he wasn’t so drunk as to preclude getting it up…Potter’s breath came hot and moist on Draco’s thighs while he was striping off his socks, and his cock stirred slowly to life. He tucked his fingers into the straps of Harry's harness and drew the man to his feet, then backed himself toward the tub and up the steps leading to it. He could hear its alluring bubbling sounds calling to him.

Harry’s hands tightened around Draco’s waist to keep the man from falling as Malfoy pulled the two of them carelessly into the bath. Malfoy sank into the water up to his neck almost immediately while Harry had to find his footing to prevent them from smashing their heads together.

“Come on, Potter. Don’t be shy.” Draco’s urging words were just short of sounding slurred and his arms tightened, drawing Harry nearer.

“Master?” Harry questioned.

“Mmmmhm. Say it again.” Malfoy whispered, drawing Potter between his legs and rutting his burgeoning hard-on against the man’s stomach. One hand left to water to tangle in Potter’s hair. He jerked the man’s face closer to his ear. Draco knew Potter licked his lips before saying the word because he felt the barest tip of a tongue graze his earlobe. 

“Master.” Harry sighed, feeling a tingle shoot from Malfoy’s hand in his hair and straight down his spine before prickling along the length of his cock.

“Oh, yes.” Malfoy agreed, letting his glazed eyes slip shut. “I own you, Harry Potter.” He released his grip on the man’s hair and pushed him backward until he was pinned against the other side of the bath, eyes once more trained on him. “This is mine.” He pressed his wet thumb against Harry’s scar, then trailed it down his cheek to his mouth, which Harry opened obediently to take in the fingers that came next. “And this is mine.” Behind closed lids, Malfoy’s eyes rolled in his head. He let that brilliant mouth suck his digits only a moment before he withdrew them and moved downward.

“And these.” With both hands now, he took Potter’s small pink nipples between fingers and thumbs. He rolled and pinched them tightly, giving a firm tug at the end of the movement that wrested a groan from Harry. He scratched his fingernails down Potter’s torso, and it arched into his touch in a way that made his own cock throb.

“This is mine.” Malfoy continued, finding Harry’s erection with one hand and gripping it tightly while the other hand slipped downward, roughly fondling his bollocks on the way to that tight pucker of tender skin tucked away between two globes of flesh. “And all of this is mine, isn’t it?”

Harry’s pulse quickened the moment Malfoy’s finger breeched him. Pushing in slowly and steadily, he couldn’t help but tilt his hips toward his owner.

“Isn’t it, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice came in his ear moment’s before his teeth closed down on the lobe, the warm sensation of pleasure punctuated by a brief moment of pain.

“Mmm, yes. Oh, yes.” Harry widened his legs and let the water and Malfoy support him.

“And you belong to me, don’t you?” Draco withdrew his finger only long enough to add another one, and then they were pressing into Harry’s sweet spot. And the man’s mouth was on his neck now, licking and sucking and worrying the flesh between his teeth.

Oh fuck. This was a side of Malfoy that Harry could learn to live with.

“Yes. To you, only you.” Harry promised, rolling his hips.

“Say it.” Malfoy prompted moments before biting down on Harry’s shoulder, hard enough to leave bruised marks in their wake.

“I belong to you.”

The hand disappeared from Harry’s cock only to take a nipple and twist it, hard.

“Oooh, ow…. Ah, mmm.” Harry grunted.

“To whom?” Draco pushed Potter’s head back as far as it would go and latched on to his throat. He could feel Harry’s Adam’s apple bob with his response, and his own cock did the same in turn. 

“Draco, Mmmm…” Harry groaned when his master took his hand and dragged it toward his own prick. Harry stroked himself gently and managed to whisper, “Draco Malfoy.”

“Come on, Potter. Touch yourself for me.” Draco urged, clamping his hand around Harry’s and moving it with deliberation. When he was certain that Potter would continue the motion on his own, he let go and went back to brutally punishing his slave’s nipples with his fingers, and marking the skin of his upper chest, neck, and shoulders with his mouth.

Draco could feel his own cock twitching with excitement, and he paused his ministrations to fist himself a few times. When Potter’s breath was coming in gasps and pants, he pushed the man’s hands away from himself and withdrew his own fingers from his arse. His own drunkenness had receded to a fuzzy, warm feeling around the corners of his consciousness. It cradled him in the same, pleasant way the bubbling bath water fed around his body. The same way he was going to be cradled between Potter’s thighs in a moment. He fished around in the water, digging his hands under Harry’s legs and pulling them upward. The motion was so unexpected that Harry was dragged down the side of the bath and then dunked completely under the water. He came up spluttering and scrabbled to grip the lip of the tub behind him. He tucked his arms over the edge and held on for dear life as Malfoy pushed into him, over and over again.

Harry could see his own face in the wall-length mirror that passed behind the hot-tub, as well as Malfoy's pale and glistening back. His green eyes were heavy lidded and his lashes stuck together, hair matted down in odd bumps, lips parted, chest heaving. He could see purpling marks one one exposed shoulder, and a flush was creeping up his neck.  
Malfoy shifted positions and mouthed his earlobe again. 

“M-m-master?” Harry trembled.

“What is it, slave?” Draco panted in his ear.

“Please, let me come for you?”

Malfoy contemplated this for a moment. “No. But ask me again.”

“Please, Master, please.” Harry begged, his face creased with concentration. “Please, can I come for you?”

Malfoy sighed with pleasure. His breath was hot in Harry’s ear, and it made him shiver. “That was lovely. But no.”

Harry made a sound of protest, but clenched his jaw shut. His whole body was tightening in an effort to contain his impending release.

“Oh, holy fuck, Potter.” Malfoy gasped as Harry’s passage clamped down around him, amplifying the tightness and heat. He gave a few last, pounding strokes before he couldn’t contain himself any longer. His howl echoed off the surfaces of the expansive bathroom.

It was almost a tragedy to uncouple them, but Draco had to do it. The bubbling warmth of the bath that was once alluring now seemed ten times too hot. Potter looked like he was frozen in a state of physical pain. His arms were tucked over the edge of the tub so tightly they were almost quaking. His jaw and mouth were clamped shut and short breaths were coming through his nose.

Draco smiled to himself. Yes. He had done that to Potter. With proper motivation, the it seemed like Harry was quite capable of being the slave he was supposed to be. Draco pushed himself up to stand in the water, and though his legs felt like a poorly set custard pie, he managed to climb over the edge of the tub. The floor was covered with puddles of water here and there from their splashing, and Draco stood, dripping on the bath rug. “Come on, Potter.” He patted one arm gently, then gave it an almost affectionate squeeze. “Get the bath towels."


	14. Chapter 14

Malfoy decided that food was in order if he was to rid himself of the effects of his earlier alcohol binge. And he’d be damned if Potter wasn’t the picture of perfection, on his knees, straining prick pointing at his abdomen, and cleaning Malfoy’s fingers eagerly between each bite. Oh, yes. There was promise yet that he could be a good pet. But Draco knew what Harry wanted, and he wasn’t going to get it. It didn’t do for slaves to have their cake and eat it too.

Despite the fact that Draco was now sobered and more than ready, physically, for another round with Potter’s talented holes, he forced himself to wait. After dinner was cleared, Malfoy bade Harry get his favorite paddle again, after all, he did owe the man five strokes at least for his afternoon indecencies, and told him as well, to bring any other object of his choosing.

He tried not to look on too eagerly while Potter dug through the chest of toys with a burning face. In a moment, his rump was going to be equally colored. “Nipple clips?” Draco questioned with an amused smirk as he accepted them from Harry’s offered palm, before removing the paddle from his mouth. “What an entirely safe, yet telling choice.” He carded his fingers through deep brown, unruly locks, tugging at the last moment before withdrawing his hand. “Sit back.” When Potter had done so, he reached out a crooked finger at let it brush against a pinked nipple, and it hardened under his touch. Harry pressed his lips together and swallowed. “I was rather rough with these earlier,” Draco mused, tugging gently at the other nipple, which had a darker color to it, and a hazy halo of purple bruise surrounding it. 

Harry gasped and his eyes fluttered shut.

“And still, you want more?” Malfoy didn’t wait for a response before letting the toothed clip snap down on the previously abraded and tender nipple.

“Ah! Fffff-“ Harry bit down on his lip to hold back his obscenity and gripped his elbows more tightly behind his back.

“Now this one…” Draco went back to the other nipple and continued to stroke it for a few more moments before pulling the skin out taut and easing the clamp down. He gave it a flick with his forefinger before turning his attention to the paddle. “I think with only five strokes promised to you, I had better make them count, yes?”

Merlin, Malfoy was starting to love that wide-eyed look of shock that Potter gave him. “On the bed and spread them.” He gestured to Harry’s legs with the paddle. When his slave was properly positioned, frog legged with his hands tucked beneath him, Draco swung the paddle fiercely and landed it square in the center of Potter’s left thigh. 

Harry squeaked and his legs jerked slightly, butterflying upward.

“Why aren’t you counting, Potter?” Malfoy asked a sing-song voice after a moment had passed.

“Because you didn’t ask me to, Master.” Harry responded truthfully. He sucked in an audible breath. “Would you like me to?”

Malfoy thought on this a minute, idly pinching the reddening skin of Harry’s tender, inner thigh. “No.” He finally decided. “Let’s see how things go without it.” Each of the five stinging blows were delivered to the same leg, and Potter was squirming now.

“Red looks good on you, Potter.” Malfoy complimented. “But now you look terribly uneven. What do you think I ought to do about it?”

“The other side.” Harry whispered, stifling a groan and pressing his knees down against the mattress. “Do the other side.”

“Is that what you want?” Draco grinned wryly to himself.

Harry was quiet a moment. “If…if it pleases you, Master.”

Draco blinked. That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting from Potter. It showed he’d paid attention in his training, at least once. “I think that’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said all week!” he praised, before paddling Harry’s right thigh just as soundly.

Potter’s legs bounced under Draco’s paddle, and from this angle, Draco could watch the cheeks of his arse clench with each blow. And though he groaned, the tip of his cock oozed a clear, pearlescent fluid. Malfoy was rather pleased with himself and the way he’d managed to figure Potter out so quickly.

“Well,” Draco started, pinching the slit of Potter’s cock closed so that more of the pre-come was squeezed out. He pulled away and rubbed it absently between his finger and thumb. “Now you look like a peppermint, two red stripes with a dash of white in the center…Hmmm,” Malfoy contemplated. “Ever had your cock paddled, Potter?”

Harry groaned and turned his face against one side of the mattress. “Oh, no, please…no.”

“You do realize that in ‘Slave Speak’, that makes for rather enthusiastic ‘Yes’, don’t you?” Draco taunted him as he took Harry’s prick in hand, garnering another groan. He hefted it gently, and lifted his paddle again.

 

Harry soon learned that having one’s cock paddled wasn’t nearly as painful as he’d thought it was going to be. Not five strokes worth, anyway. Rather, it stung and smarted, and having it done was rather embarrassing, but not nearly as mortifying as the sounds he made while it was going on. And perhaps worse, was that he had not gone limp as he thought he would, but rather, was achingly, throbbing hard, again.

“Alright, up you get.” Malfoy smirked down at him as he tugged him to his feet. The moment he stood up, another prickling pain went through his groin as his heavy sac swung down between his thighs and brushed the skin there. “I’ve decided I’m going to send a few owls tonight, and the best place for you…” Draco manipulated Harry’s body toward the space under the desk with a knowing smirk. “Is between my legs. I rather trust you know what to do once you’re there.” Harry had barely fit his body under the desk before Malfoy pulled his chair in close.

 

 

There had been an exchange of owls several times during the course of the evening, and when Harry finally emerged from under the desk, his jaw ached just as much as his knees. And while Draco fell rather easily into a deep slumber, Harry spent half the night awake, partially because of his state of tension, and partially because he was anticipating being brought back to England in the morning. Draco had called the concierge and arranged for their trunks to be sent for them, because where ever they were going next, he was planning on apparating the short distance. Finally, exhaustion won out over all, and he fell into a fitful sleep.

Harry tried to be on his very best behavior, but couldn’t help the panicky feeling that rose inside of him when Malfoy called him to his side. “Potter, quit faffing about. We’re going to be late to lunch with Zabini.” Harry was just near enough that Malfoy managed to catch him by the arm and disapparate before there could be any questions.

When Harry’s stomach dropped into his feet, he knew it wasn’t just the feeling of being side-alonged this time. Malfoy was going to take him around to all of his friends and make a spectacle of him, he just knew it. And if there was anything he couldn’t take, it was being shared and abused by an entire group of Slytherin elitists. As soon as they came to a stop on solid ground, Harry dropped to his knees behind Draco and pressed his forehead into the back of his calves. “Oh, please, no! Please, Master, please. Not Zabini…”

Malfoy had barely regained his balance on the doorstep to Zabini’s Italian villa when Potter was suddenly pushing against him from behind, and whining about going to meet Blaise for lunch. “Damn it, Potter. What is your problem?” He had just tried to reach behind himself to snag Potter and haul him into a standing position when the door opened, and he righted himself with an easy grin. “Blaise-y!”

“Malfoy!” Zabini countered with a smile, and they leaned forward to clap one another on the shoulders, although Draco’s movement was a bit restrained due to the fact that Harry was latched tightly to his ankles. “That your new slave, then?” He angled himself around Malfoy to glance behind him, features laced with amusement. “Bit shy, is he? Or are you already dogging this one around?”

“Something of that nature.” Draco admitted with a shrug. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Blaise was agreeable to this notion and reached a hand down, taking the black fabric of Harry’s shirt in his fist and hauling him up the same way one would lift a kitten by the scruff. There was a slight resistance, but Draco landed a kick to Potter’s chest that encouraged disentanglement, along with a command to let go.

The subordinate came into view reluctantly, his face a deep shade of crimson. He couldn’t make his eyes look at the dark-skinned Slytherin, so instead, he shot a helpless, pleading look to his smirking master.

“Potter!?” Zabini nearly yelped with surprise and amusement. “You’re taking the piss… it’s a glamour, right?” Both of his hands came around Harry’s face and pulled his head backward so that he could be examined more properly. “Merda!” He exclaimed after a minute, releasing Harry so suddenly that the slave stumbled backward. “It’s fucking Potter!”

Harry tried to hide himself behind Malfoy again, but it was of no use. Draco was not interested in being used as a shield. He grabbed a hold of Harry and pulled him back into plain view.

“Gesù!” Blaise exclaimed, and ran a hand through his hair. “Come inside already, and tell me how you managed to kidnap Harry Sodding Potter.” He made a melodramatic glance about his property from behind the door. “I’m not going to have The Ministry or Interpol breaking down my door, am I?”

Draco snorted and shoved Harry through the door before stepping neatly over the threshold himself. “Hardly. I bought the pervy git on the auction block at Viteazul’s. Signed himself up for three years.”

“And the whole time, the Prophet’s been on about some anonymous holiday?” It was Zabini’s turn to chuckle.

Harry was ready to die on the spot and melt into the floor. It had to be better than anything that could possibly come of this situation. Blaise kept looking at him with a mixture of surprise, and amusement, and disdain. Malfoy was too busy eyeballing the décor and shedding his blazer to notice.

A petite, well-groomed bronze-skinned man wearing well-tailored white pants and nothing else, stepped out of the shadows of a doorway, and with a knowing smile, tipped his head. “Master Draco, it brings me great joy to be of service to you again…may I take your coat?”

Malfoy finally let go of Harry and whirled toward the voice, a look of excitement playing over his visage. He relinquished his coat with a nod, and when the man had disappeared with the garment, turned toward Zabini with a wide smile. “You didn’t tell me that you still had Alexei!”

Blaise tipped one shoulder up and made a face of placation. “You never asked.”

“Ooohhh.” Draco rubbed his palms together with a grin. “Would you be willing to make a trade for the evening? I never could resist a well-trained Gypsy…”

Harry suddenly felt light-headed as all the blood rushed out of his face. Oh, please, no.


	15. Chapter 15

“You know I’ve always been happy to share my toys with you, Draco.” Blaise’s eyes flickered with amusement before adding a proviso. “As long as you let me watch.”

“Salazar, you’re so depraved.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, then winked.

“Not hardly as depraved as your Mother’s ‘tea-parties’.” Zabini shot back with good humor.

“Got me on that one-”

The boys’ banter was interrupted when Potter threw himself gracelessly to his knees and pressed first his forehead, and then his lips to Malfoy’s boots.

Please, please, please don’t trade me! Harry thought, consumed by horror at the premise. I can be a good slave, see? Anything you want, just don’t give me to Zabini!

Draco exchanged glances with Blaise, then smirked down at Harry. “Come on, Potter. Quit being such a Hufflepuff. Besides, plenty of time to thank me later after Zabini’s had a go with you.”

Harry’s sound of protest was punctuated by a squeak as Malfoy pushed him away with his foot for the second time that morning. Two sets of boots stepped neatly over his huddled form on the floor and continued their conversation as they moved toward the sitting area in the villa. 

“Oh, and Potter…”

Harry’s eyes lifted and he found Malfoy half-turned toward him. “Y-yes, Master?” his voice nearly caught in his throat.

“”Do make yourself useful when Alexei comes ‘round. You’re not on bloody vacation.”

Harry whispered his assent and lowered his face back into the crook of his arms. Second here even to the resident slave… if there was a way he could figure to perform Avada Kedavra, wandlessly, and on himself, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Zabini snorted. “Never thought I’d live to see the day Potter’d throw himself on the floor and cry ‘Master’ for you…” The conversation trailed as the host led his guest around a corner.

Harry spent another few minutes wallowing in self-pity before he felt gentle but strong fingers grip his upper arms. “Come on now.” A voice said softly. “No use dwelling on what is to be. Plenty to be done before that comes about, anyhow. And besides, Master Blaise isn’t so cruel…”

Harry allowed himself to be pulled into a sitting position and he wiped the last traces of tears from the corners of his eyes. “You don’t-” He began, but the other slave rose his finger to his lips. “You don’t know what it’s like.” Harry lamented much more quietly. “We were classmates, not so very long ago. We’ve never gotten along, and now Malfoy is going to share me around everyone in his bloody house, so they can all take the piss out of me and get their revenge…”

Alexei offered his hand down and pulled Potter to his feet. “Nothing you can do about it if that’s true. Might as well make the best of it. Come on, if I heard correctly, you’re to help me prepare lunch.” He turned, gesturing for Harry to follow him into an expansive kitchen. “I’m Alexei, by the way. And you’re Potter?”

The bespectacled man scowled and shook his head. “No. It’s Harry.”

“Harry then,” The Gypsy said. “Give me a hand, won’t you?” He moved beside a tall cabinet and bent his knee, as though looking for a leg up.

Harry laced his hands together and Alexei stepped into them, balancing easily on one foot while he tugged open the door and retrieved several pots and pans before dropping down.

“Here,” He said, offering the armload to Harry. “Put them on the range while I…” His easy-going tone trailed off as he approached the ice chest and began pulling food items out of it. “Oh, there it is!” He exclaimed suddenly. 

Harry nearly dropped a large stockpot on his foot as he turned to see what the commotion was. Alexei was holding what appeared to be a wand in one hand and precariously balancing an armload of food in the other. Then, he tucked it into the back of his pants and juggled the food onto the counter. When everything was righted and placed neatly, he withdrew the wand again with a nod. 

“Makes everything easier, but I misplace it all the time. Lose my head if weren’t attached.” He confided in Harry, then flicked his wand toward Harry, levitating the stockpot out of his grasp and redirecting it toward the basin to be filled. Harry looked over his shoulder to be sure he wasn’t being watched, then slunk nearer to the Gypsy, who was now humming to himself.

“You’ve got a wand!?” The accusation came out as a hiss. “Is it yours? How did you get it back?”

“Of course I’ve got a wand, haven’t you?”

“Mine’s stuck in the box!”

“Ohhh,” Alexei said knowingly. “You’re one of those slaves.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry was growing frustrated with the dance around his questions. “What sort are you?”

Alexei took a moment to direct the full pot back onto the burner, where he manually set the flame and tucked his wand away again before turning back to Harry. “The way I see it, there’s three types.” He held up his hand with his thumb holding down his forefinger. “One, there’s people like you, kidnapped and forced into a servitude they would never have chosen for themselves…” he pushed down his pinky finger with his free hand.

“I wasn’t kidnapped!” Harry argued, as if it made a difference.

“Well, then you’re type number two: one of the silly blokes who sign themselves up with some sort of slave broker, give up their wand and their rights.” He pushed his ring finger down, leaving only the middle up.

“I wasn’t aware there was any other kind…” Harry snapped.

“Three…” Alexei continued as if Harry wasn’t growing red in the face. “There’s people like me.” He tapped his own chest with his middle finger. “I entered into this contract without a middle man. I serve Master Blaise because I want to. I chose him. I keep my wand and each year, if I decide to renew my servitude for another year, he sends a payment to my family. If not, I go my own merry way to do what I please. And if I decide I want out before the year is up, I only have to refund his payment. And then I pack my bag and go.”

Harry blinked while he processed this information. Ivan hadn’t mentioned that Harry could just serve as he pleased and take his leave when he didn’t. Ivan had made it seem like it was all or nothing, do or don’t. Why hadn’t he thought of this sort of arrangement himself? He could have chosen who to serve. He wouldn’t have ended up with Draco Bloody Malfoy, that’s for certain. Having his arse beaten nightly, and for what?

He drew off his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt. No, on the hem of the shirt Malfoy had given him to wear. He had no possessions, save what had been locked away when he entered the academy. And Ivan was supposed to be safekeeping his trunk that he’d brought with him that summer. Harry mentally kicked himself. How could he have been so stupid and naïve? And Ivan called him on it every time, but Harry had been too stubborn to see that, had let himself be lured in to a trap with the promises of sexual excitement. Really, he was almost no better than the one’s who’d been kidnapped, except he was depraved enough to get off on it, unlike normal people. Fuck.

“You alright?” A hand came on his shoulder again, and Harry didn’t shrug it off, although he wanted to. “Want to sit? You look like you need a moment.”

Harry shook his head, then reconsidered. “Actually, can I use the loo?”

Once he’d been shown where to go, Harry hunkered down in the corner behind the door and palmed his face, rubbing vigorously. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He whispered to himself, and then to prevent himself from going into hysterics, tried to calculate the number of days he had left of being humiliated by Malfoy. Just over a thousand days? He ran the water and began to wash his face. What sounded worse? Three years, or a thousand days?

 

 

“So, looks like you’ve got Potter pretty well under your thumb then, yeah? Zabini questioned, turning his tumbler on the tabletop. “Not such a proud Gryffindor anymore.”

“I bloody well had to beat it out of him.” Draco took a drink. “Defiant little shit. Still thinks he’s better than me, I can tell. But I’ve figured out how to motivate him. Got him eating out of the palm of my hand…” Draco snorted with pleasure. “Literally.”

“So you are dogging him, then?” Blaise smirked.

“I don’t question your proclivities,” Draco snapped, and Zabini lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Besides, a little humility is good for him after spending so many years on the front page of The Profit.”

“A little?” Blaise pressed.

“Alright. I think a heaping dose of humility is called for in order to put the manky half-blood in his place.”

“If you thought he was so manky…” Blaise swirled his drink on the tabletop again before lifting it to his lips. “You’d never had bought him in the first place. And don’t think that I can’t see the marks you left all over his neck. Acting like you’ve got the straw-end of the broomstick when you’re clearly getting your rocks off…” He smiled slyly. “You’re not so difficult to read, Draco Malfoy.” 

Draco’s cheeks pinked faintly. “Of course I’m getting my rocks off. I’m a young wizard in the prime of his life, and I have needs. And I paid enough for the pillock, I ought to get some use out of him.”

“There’s a difference between getting your uses out of your slave and having the lay of your life…” Zabini grinned and ducked the glass that came at his head.

 

 

“Potter, you’d do well to take your cues from Alexei here.” Draco announced, even as he ran his hands over the Gypsy’s sun-bronzed skin. The boy was perfectly poised over Malfoy’s lap with his hands clasped behind his neck as he awaited his spanking. And Draco was taking his sweet time, reacquainting his hands with a much favored slave.

Harry bowed his head and mumbled, “Yes, Master.” He was trying to keep himself from trembling as he knelt on the floor between Blaise’s knees. Any moment now, it was going to be his turn, and he hadn’t stopped dreading the moment all day.

“You can relax, Potter.” Blaise said lowly.

Harry’s eyes flickered upward in an effort to read the man a bit better. “S-sorry? Er…Mas-”

Blaise interrupted him with a wave of his hand. “I said, relax. For all the same reasons that Draco wanted you, I’m not interested.”

Harry blinked. “You’re not?” 

“No.” Zabini reiterated.

Potter sighed with obvious relief.

“Now, just this once, I’m going to tell you to speak freely. Be respectful, mind you, and remember your place. And going forward, you’ll address me as ‘Sir’, if only to make Malfoy happy. Got me?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry agreed, narrowing his eyes with confusion.

“So…” Blaise slunk downward in his chair, making himself more comfortable for the show that Draco had finally started by cracking his bare hand against Alexei’s arse. “You decide you like it rough before or after defeating the Dark Lord?”

Harry’s face pinked a bit. “A-after.”

“Must’ve signed your contract right after graduation…” Blaise glanced only briefly at Harry before turning his attention back to the other two.

“That summer.” Harry admitted.

“Hmph.” Zabini grunted his acknowledgement and slipped a hand down to his thigh, stroking a finger over the tenting fabric at his crotch. “What do you think of having Draco as your master, then?”

Harry fell silent. There was no way to answer this question properly. Instead, he let his gaze travel in the direction of the floor show. Malfoy’s attention was entirely on the slave over his knee. He tangled his fist in the man’s hair and pulled him upward, saying something lowly in his ear.

Whatever it was, it made Alexei blush, then moan. Draco mouthed his throat before releasing his grip, and stroked his thumb between the reddening cheeks of his arse before resuming the spanking. 

Harry felt a pang of resentment toward Alexei and the ministrations he was receiving at the hand of his master. His master, who had been ever so cruel to him in the last week.

“Fair enough.” Blaise finally said after sometime. “What do you think of men like Draco as your Master? And I want an answer this time.”

“It’s not fair.” Harry whispered, eyes trained on Draco.

Blaise looked down at Harry, then leaned forward. “What isn’t?”

“That Ivan trained me for himself and I don’t know how to make Malfoy happy!” Harry hissed between his teeth before he realized what he was admitting to.

Zabini smirked and sat back in his seat. “So you actually do want to make him happy then? You’re not being an arse on purpose?”

Harry shot a dark look at Zabini. “Yeah, I’m being an arse on purpose because I like getting strapped within an inch of my life!”

Blaise’s hand came up as if he were going to backhand Harry, who flinched. “Remember your manners, Potter. We’re not at Hogwart’s anymore, and you’re not in a position to be slinging attitude.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry sighed and peeked an eye open when he wasn’t reprimanded with a stinging swat. Zabini had gone back to watching, and stroking. “It’s hard to let go of the history between us…”

“You’re right on that account, Potter. It’s the only reason I’m not taking advantage of your well-trained mouth right now. According to Drake, anyway. Although, if he says it is, I’m sure he isn’t lying.”

“He said that?” Harry licked his lips. He knew Malfoy liked using his mouth, and had complimented him on it before, but if he was mentioning it to his friends…

“Yeah, Potter. He said it. But don’t let it go to your head, yeah? There’s more to serving than an open mouth and a functioning tongue…”

The two of them eased into silence again as Draco pulled Alexei up onto his lap, turning him around to cradle him. The gypsy’s ears and cheeks were red, and his dark-lashed eyes were heavy-lidded as he clung to Malfoy. Draco angled his chin upward and kissed him full on the mouth as he slipped his hand between the slave’s legs.

Harry turned his head away. He couldn’t watch this tender exchange, not when Malfoy had never shown such affection for him. His gut burned with frank jealousy, and he moved back to the awkward conversation as a distraction.

“Could…could I make a request?” He asked of Zabini, who turned toward him with surprise.

“Sure, Potter. You can ask, but it doesn’t mean you’ll get it.”

Unruly locks fell forward as Harry bowed his head. “Would you call me, ‘Harry’?”

It was Zabini’s turn to look confused. “Why?”

“Because…well, because it’s my name. And, when you call me ‘Potter’, it’s like being back at Hogwart’s. And, maybe it would make things…better. Easier.”

“To get beyond the history, you mean?” Blaise clarified.

“Yessir.” Harry mumbled, beginning to wonder why he’d brought it up.

“It’s not a half-bad idea, Pot-er, Harry.” Blaise mused.

“Will you tell Malfoy?” Harry questioned.

“I might.” Zabini conceded. “And you should refer to him as ‘Master’. It’ll help reinforce things for you too.”

Harry blushed and nodded.

Alexei came with a low cry that drew Harry and Blaise’s attention, both. The slave looked embarrassed, but Draco seemed amused and offered his sticky, coated fingers to the boy to be cleaned.

Zabini was on his feet in an instant, and crossed the short distance between them. “Now, it’s my turn. He rumbled. He took Malfoy by the collar and pulled him up, and Alexei dropped to the floor between them, where he crouched.

Harry thought for an instant that Zabini was cross with Malfoy, but then he realized the way they were looking at each other had nothing to do with anger. Blaise spoke lowly and in Italian to Alexei, who scrambled out from between them and crawled several paces away before pushing himself to his feet. He made it several steps passed Harry when Malfoy’s voice sounded.

“And take Potter with you!”

“Aww, Dray…” Zabini drawled mockingly. “You don’t want him to watch? Maybe they should both stay…” He tightened his grip on Malfoy’s collar, pulling him in such a way that Draco had to brace himself on the man’s arms or crash into his chest. 

The dark-skinned man was lowering his face to Malfoy’s when Draco shoved at him, hissing, “Blaise!”

White teeth shown brightly in contrast to Blaise’s dark skin. “Alright. Get out, the both of you.”

Harry was both stunned and confused at the interaction between long-time friends, but let himself be tugged to his feet and quickly out of the room by Alexei. 

As he pulled the door shut behind them, Alexei confided in Harry with a grin. “Master Draco bottoms just as well as he tops…”


	16. Chapter 16

“Harry.” A warm, breathy whisper blew across his ear, calling him to wake.

“Hmmm?” Harry shifted and curled more tightly into his pillow. Something warm and wet slid teasingly along the outer rim of his earlobe, causing him to shiver slightly. A tongue? “Mmmmm.” He scooted his rump backward and ground it into the warm body behind him. Mmm, Ivan….No... Malfoy….No, wait. Alexei? Just as he felt his nipple tweaked, Harry bolted upright in bed, flustering away the hands and trying to remember where he was and how he’d gotten there. 

As he balled his fists into his eye sockets, everything came back to him: being kicked out of Blaise’s suite; huddling outside the door with Alexei, secretly listening to the sounds of Malfoy being debauched until nerve deserted them both and they ran away to hide in Alexei’s personal room; the two of them crowding into Alexei’s bed (at the other slave’s urging, of course) and whispering like school girls until sleep captured him…

Alexei giggled and scrambled off the mattress. “Get up, lazy-bones.”

Harry frowned. “Was I called for?”

Alexei placed his hand on his hip and jutted his pelvis to one side, cocking his head dramatically. “Were you really going to lie abed until Master Draco came looking for you?” He shook his head. “What kind of pet are you, anyway?” The look on his face turned to snide disdain. “I make sure that I’m up before Master Blaise so that I can ready myself for him, and assist him in his own morning rituals…”

“Ready yourself?” Harry blinked.

Alexei rolled his eyes. “Come on, won’t you? Before the masters wake up and we’re both flogged for dawdling.” His other hand perched on the spare hip and he lorded himself over Harry as the man threw back the covers and slipped from the comfort of the bed, groaning and fumbling for his glasses. “Sweet Salazar Slytherin!” He sighed, borrowing the euphemism from his own master, and gestured for Harry to follow him.

They had a hasty but thorough bath, and Alexei helped Harry neaten up the stubble accumulating on his face with careful flicks of his wand.

“There’s a potion for inhibiting hair-growth, you know,” he grumbled, and Harry could only shrug. He couldn’t use what wasn’t made available for him.

They moved into the kitchen and Alexei busied himself with preparing the moka for espresso. When he took down two cups, Harry frowned.

“Malf- er, Master…Draco will want tea.”

Alexei gave a half smile and a nod. “That’s right, I forgot. You Englishmen are too delicate to appreciate a good cup of caff in the morning.” He gestured with one hand toward another cabinet. “Ten-some odd varieties in there, I suspect.” A sweep of his wand had another kettle humming on the stovetop.

Harry rifled through the tins of tea, pulling off some of the tops to waft the blends before settling on something that smelled decidedly of Earl Grey; he couldn’t be certain, but he thought he remembered the aroma from yesterday morning’s breakfast, although in truth, he hadn’t paid much attention to the type of tea Malfoy had been swilling.

The gypsy carefully measured the loose mix into a steeper and bloomed the tea leaves with a dash of the boiling water. While they drained, he measured and tamped the ground beans into a filter of their own. With graceful ease, he twisted again and set the tea to steeping, then began to set up two serving trays. Harry watched Alexei with awe, admiring his confidence and speed in the kitchen. “Tea cups in that one over there.” He gestured again, and began to brew the espresso while Harry went to fetch one.

 

 

 

“Don’t.” Draco rolled away from Zabini and closer toward the edge of the bed.

“Don’t what?” Blaise grumbled, reaching for Draco again.

“Don’t fucking snuggle me like there’s anything between us anymore.”

“Gesù, Dray. Panties in a twist this morning? Hafta make something out to be more’n’ what it is…still hung up on what your father said?” He reached out and caught Malfoy around the waist, then pulled him, kicking, back into the middle of the bed where he managed to pin the blond and frot against his back end.

“Damn it, Blaise!” Draco sent his elbow backward, and then his hand went flying up to shove at him. Zabini caught him by the wrist and was just pulling Draco on top of him, murmuring, “What a naughty boy,” when a single knock came at his bedroom door.

Draco’s brows narrowed and he shot Blaise a dark and desperate look, then yanked himself free before rolling back to the edge of the bed. The door cracked open and Alexei peered inside.

Blaise waved them inside, and the boys split to go around either side of the bed. “Mmmm, caff.” He sighed, ignoring Draco and reaching for the steaming and aromatic cup that Alexei offered him. His slave placed the saucer on the night stand and tucked the tray under one arm, waiting for a following breakfast order.

Harry came around Malfoy’s side of the bed, and their eyes met only for a moment. Harry noted the pink flush in his master’s cheeks and the scowl on his face, and quickly averted his eyes. “Ah, tea, this morning, Master?” He licked his lips, swallowed, and hoped that he hadn’t made a poor decision. There was a momentary silence that made Harry want to squirm, but then Draco was pulling himself up to sit against the head board. He gestured for Harry to bring the tray closer and lifted the cup and saucer both into his lap.

“You’re a bloody savage, Zabini.” He sniffed, shifting his eyes toward his companion and meaning it in more ways than one.

“Yes…” Blaise agreed, rolling his eyes before sipping his own beverage. “And your refined self- did it prefer biscuits and jam, or d’you want the fry-up?”

Draco sipped his tea before responding. “Full breakfast, eggs poached, and I’ll take it at the table.”

Blaise snorted and rolled his eyes again. “Loosen up, won’t you?”

“Fine. In bed, like a common ruffian.”

“Are you calling me a ruffian?” Blaise pretended to be offended, but shot a wink at Alexei who stood with his back against the wall, enjoying the banter.

Harry, who was unfamiliar with common interactions between fellow Slytherin’s shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable.

“You?” Malfoy scoffed. “No. You, my dear friend, are a barbarian.”

“Shall we take leave and prepare your breakfast then, Master?” Alexei inquired. “What would you like?”

“You heard the man.” Blaise instructed Alexei with a jerk of his head toward Draco. He took a moment to handle him fondly and pulled his slave half onto the bed, lavishing him in a round of kisses and whispering into his ear before pushing him back onto his feet with a final pat to his rump.

“Yes, Master.” Blushing, Alexei gestured for Harry to follow him, and they made a hasty retreat.

“Salazar,” Draco exclaimed when they boys had gone. “Is he your slave, or your boyfriend?”

“Sorry, I’m not used to treating my slaves like inconvenient chattel. And I’m rather fond of Lexi, perhaps even more than you are…”

“Can I help it if he’s perfectly trained with an impeccable arse?” Draco sipped his tea again. “He’s the polar opposite of Potter…and you know, his papers said he was well trained…” Malfoy scoffed again. “Either their standards are slipping, or Potter’s deliberately playing a fool…although,” he mused. “That may be giving him too much credit.”

“Maybe you ought to show Potter a little affection yourself and see if that brings him round…” Blaise reached for his espresso again and took an exaggeratedly genteel sip.

“Potter.” Malfoy snorted. “Affection? Have you gone mad?”

“We’re not school boys anymore, Dray. And you own him now. How much more punishment are you going to inflict on him for being who he is? He’s trying, you know.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Said he wants to put the past behind him. Wants you to call him Harry. Said you’re difficult to read.”

“He said that?” Malfoy asked incredulously and frowned again. He didn’t like his property to be so glib. 

“Well, maybe not in so many words. Said he ‘didn’t know how to make you happy’.” Blaise made quotation marks in the air with two fingers of one hand.

“Said that, did he? When?” Draco settled his tea cup aside with a heavy clink and folded his arms, eyeing Zabini.

“Last night while you were boffing my slave, I was getting to know yours.” Blaise smiled with self satisfaction. “Ought to try it yourself, really. More to that one that you might’ve thought.”

Draco ‘harumphed’ and grabbed up his tea again, falling into a contemplative silence until Blaise interrupted him.

“Said in your letter, you went to the Oracle? What news?”

“Oh, that!” Draco swallowed the last of his tea with a gulp and pushed the cup and saucer onto the bedside table with a clatter. “That I’m going to marry Astoria Greengrass and spend the rest of my days a miserable codger like my father.” He crossed his arms and looked so sullen that Zabini couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oracles are rarely so forward, Drake. What did she really say?”

Malfoy drew in a deep breath and rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if it pained him to remember. “She said, ‘The Golden One is within reach, but the course must change if the Seeker is to get the Snitch’.”

“I’ve never heard of an Oracle using a quidditch allegory before,” Blaise chuckled.

“Well,” Draco snapped. “That’s what she said, word for word. That, and ‘The decision will make one man very happy and cause the other much grief’. And what else could that mean? Father has been talking with Amadeus Greengrass about arranging Astoria and I. He certainly thinks she’s ‘the golden one’, and with her hair, it’s surely a double reference. Triple, even, with their wealth. They’re one of the top ten wealthiest pureblood wizarding families, along with yours and mine. Can you imagine the pile of galleons we’d get, if there was a dowry? Can you imagine the wedding gifts? Ohhhh!” Draco groaned and stuffed his face into his hands. “A bloody, Merlin-loving wedding. It’ll be like getting married to my mother….Kill me now, Zabini. Please.”

“Oh, relax.” Blaise clapped him on the back a few times for good measure. “No one of stature and importance marries for love anyway. I’ve half a mind to shack up with Pansy myself, if I thought I could get past her nagging yap long enough to produce an heir with her. That’s all marriage is really good for, anyway. Producing legit offspring to pass your name and wealth to…it’s common knowledge amongst us purebloods, Draco. Surely your father said as much.”

“He did.” Draco affirmed with a shallow nod, dropping his hands to his lap. “Only, I can’t see myself being married, and Salazar help me, you know I’m not cut out for kindly relations with women.”

“True…” Blaise agreed. “But maybe she’s got a wild streak: if she’s half as kinky as ol’ Daphne, you’ll be alright…”

“Nott would kill you in an instant if he heard you say that,” Draco said with mock wide-eyed shock.”

Blaise waved his hand dismissively. “Nott doesn’t scare me. Besides, half the reason he agreed to get engaged to Daphne is because she gave him the old ‘how’s your father’ at that party of Pansy’s party two summers ago. He knows she’s a dirty bird, and he likes it!

“Anyway,” Zabini continued. “You’ll have Potter, no doubt, if Amadeus only sticks you with a two-year engagement like Nott’s, and besides, you can cultivate a veritable harem of slaves, like your father has. A revolving rotunda of pretty gypsy boys to suit all of your licentious desires…”

A smile quirked up one corner of Draco’s mouth. “If only Potter was a pretty gypsy boy, then that would be something…”

“Take him to the groom then and have him cleaned up to your tastes, and if that doesn’t work, you are rather skilled with glamours,” Blaise cajoled.

“True enough.” Malfoy conceded. “I’d been meaning to have him fixed up anyhow, get rid of the bloody spectacles that drive me spare every time I have to look at them. Only I was in such a rush to get to The Oracle, and then to see you, I nearly forgot.”

“I’ll owl Alexei’s groomer after breakfast then.” Blaise offered. “And then there’s the matter of his manners, which no doubt, will improve in time.”

“No doubt.” Draco echoed distractedly.

“Then you’ll only have to deal with your father.” 

“And Astoria.” Draco reminded his friend.

“I meant about Harry.” Zabini replied.

“How do you mean?” Malfoy frowned.

“Well, what’s your father going to do when you show up at the manner with the destroyer of the Dark Lord in tow? If he doesn’t kill him on the spot, can you imagine his reaction? You won’t have good use of your own slave for months, likely. And especially if he behaves poorly…if I were you, I’d want him properly trained and loyal before I took him anywhere near the manor.”

Draco suppressed a shudder. “I didn’t even think of it…what am I supposed to do now?”

“Did you owl your father the details of your purchase?”

“No, I was rather pleased with myself and wanted to keep it a secret until I arrived home.”

“Are they expecting you soon?” Blaise pressed.

Malfoy shrugged. “Eventually, I imagine, but they wouldn’t be put out if I spent some extra time travelling, as long as I didn’t hold things up too long with Astoria. Is that what you think I ought to do?”

“Why don’t you stay on then a bit longer? Potter is getting along rather well with my Lexi, and if all goes well, maybe Lexi can have him trained for you before you go…It’s not as if I have any pressing engagements on the horizon…”

Draco visibly brightened as he mulled this latest development over. “I accept your offer then.”

“On one condition.” Zabini held up his finger.

“That I let you watch?” Malfoy quirked one brow and Blaise laughed. 

“That too. But, on the condition that you use your own slave more often than you do mine.

Malfoy fell silent again.

“Draco?”

“Alright, agreed.” He grudgingly accepted.

“Good.” Blaise rubbed his hands together. “Think we’ve got time for another go before breakfast arrives?”


	17. Chapter 17

“Now listen here, Potter.” Draco said, hands impatiently on his hips as he watched his slave attempting to button his shirt for him, and doing a piss-poor job at it. He had half a mind to shove Harry away and finish the job himself, as it would be faster and more efficient that way.

Blaise cleared his throat and shot Draco a look before selecting a pair of dark sunglasses to complete his look from the tray Alexei held in front of him.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Listen up, Harry.”

The fumbling had already stopped and now, Harry’s head snapped up. He looked first to his master, then glanced at Blaise, and then back to Draco. “Yes sir?”

“Make sure the trunks are taken back to the guest suite where we’ll be staying. Unpack mine and be sure that all the clothes are hung properly. Your trunk out of the way, but accessible. I’ll want tea promptly at seven, but nothing to eat until that lazy sod,” He gestured flippantly toward Blaise, who was now lounging languidly in one of his chairs. “…can drag his arse from the bedroom to eat properly at the table.”

Blaise arched his eyebrows and smirked with amusement, propping his fingertips together as he listened to Draco commandeer his home, as Draco was wont to do, wherever he went.

“Yes, Master.” Harry said after flicking his eyes toward Alexei, who only shrugged, looking equally entertained as Blaise.

“Is that all you’ve got for him to wear?” Blaise finally interrupted, gesturing toward Harry. “You wouldn’t dare wear the same thing two days in a row, so I have to imagine that he doesn’t have anything else...”

Draco shrugged callously. “The slaves at The Manor all go naked, and he’s done as much until we got here. He probably only got dressed because your slave did. Is that right, Potter?”

Harry flushed. “Yes, Master. Should I undress?”

“No, don’t.” Blaise answered for him, and ignored the dirty look that Draco sent his way. “We’ll go into town and you can have him fitted for a few more outfits, at least. He’ll need them here. Alexei does most of the work by hand, and Harry,” He said the name with a pointed look at his companion. “Can help him. Likely you’ll not want your slave burned, abraded or otherwise damaged if it isn’t by your own hand. While we’re out, we can swing by the market and Lexi can make sure that we’re all stocked up on your favorites. We’ll need a few more bottles of Firewhiskey, if you’re to be staying on a bit.”

“Well, if you put it that way,” Draco allowed himself to be persuaded before looking down at Harry. “Come on then, finish me up. You act as if none of your own clothes ever had a button on them in your life!”

Harry’s face darkened a shade and he flexed his fingers before continuing to push the tiny fasteners through the tiny holes in the fabric.

 

 

When the afternoon was over, Harry had three new shirts and three new pairs of trousers, a handful of socks, and two pairs of shoes. Everything had cost more than what he would have spent on himself, but Draco did not seem remiss about clothing him properly.

They’d gotten word from Blaise’s groom that they could not accommodate Draco’s request for an appointment for two weeks. They were booked solid and it was not their policy to make exceptions for new customers. This news had ruffled Draco’s feathers some, and Harry was certain that the spanking he got that night reflected his displeasure. Despite this, Draco had somehow managed to convince himself that Harry was no longer a flight risk, and neglected to cuff him to the foot of the bed for the first time since his purchase.

In a most disappointing fashion, and despite multiple reminders to himself, Harry slept past seven o’clock and was woken with a hastily aimed, bare foot in his abdomen.

“Useless! Utterly useless, hopeless, and worthless, Potter!” Malfoy had cussed him out, and then whipped him soundly with his own leather belt, doubled over. He capped his state of disappointment by banishing Harry from his quarters until further notice.

Harry felt a deep shame for his actions and could barely meet Alexei’s eyes. He could sense the fellow slave’s frustration with him, and vowed that he would be better.

“Please!” He’d begged Alexei in hushed tones. “Show me how to be what he wants me to be…make me like you, he likes you!”

Luckily for Harry, Alexei was happy to oblige this request, if only because his own Master had asked it of him. He took Harry into his quarters and under his wing, and so began the proper re-training of Harry Potter.

Alexei soon had him on a regular schedule of waking, and after the first week, Harry had adjusted his internal time clocks appropriately. He was learning the art of cooking, and of gardening. It was a small thing to re-familiarize himself with housework; after all, he’d done so much of it at the Dursley’s that it was nearly a second nature.

Malfoy had finally started to come around as well. For nearly three days, he’d either flat-out ignored Harry or regarded him with the same indifference as a fly buzzing around a horse’s arse. Then, with much prompting from Zabini, he’d started interacting with Harry again, giving him another chance to prove himself. Harry was still bunking with Alexei, which he didn’t mind so much. And though the mattress was crowded with the two of them sharing, it was infinitely more comfortable than lying on the unyielding, and blanket-less floor.

 

 

“I can tell you were nothing but a plaything before,” Alexei said casually. He was on his hands and knees, pruning one of the parade-rose bushes by hand while Harry pulled up weeds from a near-by flower box.

“How’s that?” Harry asked, not bothering to argue the fact and yanking a particularly stubborn plant, before pausing to wipe his brow. The hot afternoon sun felt like it was baking him alive, and beads of sweat kept dripping into his eyes. The sun seemed directly over head, and he didn’t bother looking in Alexei’s direction as they chatted, having already made that mistake and blinding himself more than once that afternoon.

“The way you keep posturing over there, putting your arse end up in the air even though it isn’t doing anything to help your leverage…” Alexei grinned. “Even when there isn’t anyone around to notice.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a third party.

“Maybe you ought to do a bit more posturing and a little less talking yourself,” 

Both boys startled at the sound of Blaise’s voice, and Alexei’s pruning shears snipped at something reflexively. The master Blaise had come upon them silently, and how long he’d been there was anyone’s guess.

“Shit!” Alexei swore, and Blaise leaned past him to pick up a fallen blossom, sheared off with a stem too short to make good use of. It left a bare spot in the lower portion of the bush, and from the horrified look on Alexei’s face, Harry could tell that he hadn’t meant to do that.

Blaise rolled the flower stem between his fingers, quietly contemplating the situation at hand. Then he reached for Alexei, and grasping one elbow in his hand, pulled the slave away from the bush to an area of walk-way near where Harry was working. “Kneel there,” he instructed in the most firm voice Harry had ever heard from him. “Hands on your neck, that’s good.” Blaise barely had to coax Alexei into position. He reached down again and callously tugged the slave’s trousers into a bunch around his knees, the material snagging on his half-hardened prick. “Not even ready for me?” Blaise’s voice was full of disappointment.

“Master, I—“ Alexei began.

But Blaise shushed him with a single raised finger. A few finessed strokes had the slave at full attention, and Blaise tipped the flower, petal side down over the crown of his erection, holding the stem up lightly until the bud was balanced perfectly.

“Master!” Alexei protested, his face flushing darkly.

“Ah, ah…” Blaise chastised with a shake of his head. “I’ve heard a lot of talking from you lately and not seen much action.” He stepped away for a moment, pinching off another flower, this one with a much longer stem, more suitable for display. He held it out toward Alexei’s mouth. “No teeth,” He prompted. “Use your lips only. And be sure this makes it into a vase for the dinner table, hmm?”

Alexei gently mouthed the flower with a whimper, and Blaise ruffled his hair.

“Now, don’t move. I’m going to step inside for a paddle, and when I come back, neither of those flowers will have budged. Am I clear?” When Alexei had made a soft sound of assent, he continued. “And while I’m gone, I want you to think of all the things you’ve done just now to displease me.” Blaise started to step away. “Back to work, Harry. And put your back into it, if you want me to give a glowing review of your performance to Draco, that is.”

“Yes Sir!” Harry tore his eyes away from Alexei and refocused on the task at hand.

After Blaise had gone, Harry risked a glance toward the gypsy. His eyes were closed and he was taking short, fast breaths though his nose. A lone bumble bee was ambling along the stem of the flower, over the boy’s lips, on it’s way to the bud. He gave the barest shake of his head, but the bee seemed undeterred and continued it’s course. 

When Blaise returned, he lifted the too-short blossom from the head of Alexei’s cock and placed it between the slave’s lips to accompany the other flower. He tipped the boy forward, allowing him to plant his hands in the grass for stability, and then dropped to his knees to begin the real punishment. Alexei whimpered each time the paddle connected with his bottom, but didn’t dare cry out, lest he drop the flowers his master had placed.

Harry counted the strokes in his head, each slap of leather against skin prompting him to tick up to the next number. Blaise stopped on forty-six, and Harry wasn’t certain that he’d even been counting himself. He pulled Alexei into his arms, removing the flowers delicately from the boy’s mouth. And though the stems were webbed with spit, they were not otherwise damaged.

“That’s my good boy,” He said quietly, wiping the tear tracks on Alexei’s face away with his thumb. He kissed his cheeks several times before continuing. “We can all do with a dose of humility now and then, yes?”

Alexei nodded. 

“Weren’t bothered too much by the bees, were you?” 

It was kind of Blaise to ask. Alexei had confided in Harry earlier that afternoon that he liked gardening, but had an intense dislike, bordering on fear, of the buzzing pollen collectors. Harry wondered if Blaise had been spying on them for that long, or if it was a well-established fact in the Zabini house.

Alexei shook his head and tightened his arms around Blaise’s shoulders, then tucked his face into his Master’s neck.

“That’s good. Now, what are you sorry for?”

Alexei started to whisper, and Blaise tipped his chin up. “Come on now, so eager to give Harry a lesson before…let him learn from your mistake. What are you sorry for, and let us all hear.”

“I’m sorry I maimed your rose bush.” Alexei began.

“And?” Blaise prompted.

“I’m sorry for my uncouth decorum.”

“And?”

“I’m very sorry that my actions disappointed you in any way, Master. I will do my best to be more pleasing in the future. I—“ his voice wavered. “I will think before I speak, and I will be a better role model for other slaves…” His eyes flickered toward Harry momentarily, and then back to Blaise, who kissed him again.

“There’s a good one.” He said with a smile, tugging Alexei’s pants into place before climbing to his feet. He handed to two flowers back down to Alexei. “Be sure these make an appearance at the supper table, and let them serve as a reminder to you both of my displeasure.”

“Yes, Master.” Alexei whispered, eyes downcast.

“Yes, Sir.” Harry echoed.

Blaise dusted the dirt from his knees and looked pointedly at Harry. “Harry,” He said.

“Yes Sir?” Harry gulped and glanced up, hoping that he’d pulled enough weeds to be satisfactory.

“Are you hard?”

The question took him off balance, and it was a moment before he found the simple words to answer.

“Yes, Sir.” It was his turn to blush.

“I’ll be sure to let Draco know.” Blaise finished with a grin and a wink, then turned on his heel to leave.


	18. Chapter 18

A few days later, Blaise received an owl from his mother giving notice that his Great-Aunt Vista had passed away and his presence was needed immediately. While Alexei ran off to pack luggage, Draco and Blaise settled down over drinks. Blaise wasn’t horribly torn up over the loss, and it was more a family obligation than anything else. He insisted that Draco and Harry remain in the villa despite his absence.

“It’ll be good for the two of you to be alone again for a bit,” Blaise prompted, and Draco rolled his eyes. “Seriously Drake, you can’t deny he’s making progress, and I think you’ll get on for three or four days without us. His cooking is tolerable, and besides, you could always go out. It’s silly for you to pay for a room when you’d end up doing the same exact thing you’d do here anyway… and without as much comfort and privacy.”

“You’re right, as usual.” Draco acquiesced with a sigh. He stretched out his feet and swirled the contents of his glass.

“And who knows?” Blaise added with a wicked grin. “Potter’s grooming appointment is in a few days. If you find him markedly improved, you might enjoy having the villa to yourself; although I would encourage you to clean up any stains you might leave behind…”

Draco snorted. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Blaise replied, setting his glass down and standing as Alexei returned, easily sporting two shrunken trunks under one arm. “I’ve seen Harry’s battle-scars after you’ve finished with him, and that’s with you not caring for his appearance, although even you have to admit he’s turned up rather fit since Hogwarts. Merlin-forbid you actually find him attractive after a shave and a hair cut…” He waved his hand flippantly. 

“Only time will tell…” Malfoy responded, settling his jaw into his palm with a look of boredom.

“At any rate,” Blaise cast a Tempus and sighed. “We’d best be off before I get a Howler from my mother. My home is your home, you know, and all that rubbish. And do try not to kill Potter if he bollixes something up. Blood stains are notoriously difficult to remove from most any surface, and I really don’t have the time or energy to deal with The Ministry breathing down my neck…” Blaise winked.

“Yeah, yeah.” Draco set his own drink aside and stood, stretching a moment before reaching his hand out to Blaise. As they shook, he said, “Safe journeys and all that blather. Give my regards to your mum.”

“Will do. See you in a few days.” Blaise pulled Alexei against him for a side-along. “We’ll go in two jumps. Hold tight, now.” He nodded once more to Draco, and with a resounding “crack”, they were gone.

Draco sighed loudly and looked askance at Harry, who had managed to fade into the background despite the fact that he had been only a few feet away the whole time. “Well, Potter. Looks like it’s just you and me. Think you can make something to eat without blowing up the kitchen, or should we save that adventure for another night?”

 

 

The market place was bustling with vendors and buyers alike. The clamor of voices hawking wares and bartering was a shock to the senses after spending nearly a fortnight in the quiet solitude of Zabini’s villa. Even Malfoy looked put off by the crowd.

“Alright, Potter. Harry.” He was still struggling to call the slave by his given name, but he was determined to do it, if only to get Blaise off his back. “Stay close, I won’t tell you twice.”

Harry shuffled closer immediately although restrained himself from gripping the crook of Draco’s arm. His “Yes, Master,” was lost to the screaming Italian mob that pushed at them to get moving. And so, Draco went, weaving his way in and out of lines and groups of people, Harry hustling to stay beside him. At one point, Draco glanced back to find Harry struggling through a particularly dense throng of people. He grimaced and wordlessly stuck his hand out. Harry caught his master’s fingertips with his own, and with a hardy tug, he made it past them. Draco’s grip readjusted itself around Harry’s wrist, to be sure that he wasn’t lost again.

“Come on, we must be almost there.” He articulated loudly, and gestured in the distance to the only red-roofed store front in the vicinity. Blaise had said the place was in a cul-de-sac at the rear of the market place, just past the red-roofed building, which was actually a brothel.

They identified the entrance as a set of ornate gates, and let themselves in to an open-air mall of sorts. There were a number of grooming arenas, and true to Blaise’s promise, each of them was occupied. It was indeed, a busy place. Harry stood to one side after Draco had finally called attention to them. Malfoy was busy conversing in rapid Italian with one of the groomers. He turned Harry’s face this way and that, indicating length of side-burns with a pointed finger. He took up handfuls of Harry’s dark hair, again using his finger to draw a line, indicating desired length, then flopped the hair at his crown side to side to impress the way he wanted it styled. Next, Draco lifted and pointed at Harry’s arms, then his hands, and finally made a sweeping motion with his hand over the length of Harry’s body. Whatever Malfoy had said before that point, he had now just told the groom to do it to his entire body.

When Draco was satisfied that the groom would do as he asked, he made one more casual remark, and gestured again toward Harry’s eyes. The groom cocked his head and spouted back at length, and Draco looked bored. When the man had finished, Draco gave a brief, indifferent nod and a word of assent. The groom left to fetch something, and Malfoy reached out, removing Harry’s glasses. He folded them neatly and tucked them in his pocket. “I’ll take these.” He said with a smirking look.

Harry blinked and said nothing. When the groom returned, he gestured to several places that Draco had to sign. “Two days?” He whistled to himself and shook his head, but signed his name on the line and kept scanning the document, initialing at the appropriate junctures. Harry had no idea what that last comment pertained to, but it gave him a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Finally, Malfoy turned the feather-end of the quill back toward the groom and gave a jaunty smile. There was another brief exchange of words, with Malfoy flapping his hand off toward the entrance, leaving Harry to surmise that his master wasn’t planning on sticking around while he was primped and cleaned. He imagined himself returning from the groom looking like a poodle from the salon and Malfoy leading him off on a jeweled leash…the very thought had him wrinkling his nose.

“Stop looking as if you smell something foul, Harry.” Malfoy admonished him before taking leave. “You’ll feel better when you’re done, I suspect, and I’ll be back for you in a few hours.” He then nodded to the groom, and Harry was at once tugged away by his upper arm.

While Malfoy ventured back out into the chaotic marketplace, Harry was disrobed and treated first to a hair cut. His unruly locks which had grown quite long in the past few months, were washed and trimmed neatly above his ears, with just enough length left to style fashionably to the side, or spiked up, if Draco fancied. His cow-lick was trimmed away, and what little bit remained was tamed with the application of three different potions, the last of which had a wilting effect on the formerly uncontrollable strands.

Any flagrant hairs were plucked from between and around his eyebrows, and his sideburns were neatened. Harry’s face was steamed, shaved, and exfoliated, then rubbed with a foul smelling potion that left his pores tingling. Harry wondered if it was the hair-growth inhibiting lotion that Alexei had mentioned to him.

Not long after the potion had been fully absorbed, Harry was treated to a very thorough shower, following which he was undecided whether he should feel squeaky clean, or violated. After being washed inside and out, he’d been dried and then posed over an uncomfortable looking saddle. By the time he realized that his arse hole was about to be waxed, it was too late to do anything but scrunch his eyes shut, clench his jaw, and wait for the pain. That was followed by more of the horrid-smelling lotion, and then even his pubic hair was trimmed down to an even level and the edges neatened. All the while, his groom chattered on, apparently to himself, as he seemed to be speaking Italian, of which Harry understood not a single word. 

Just when Harry thought he would be finished, he was taken to another area where he was given simultaneous manicures and pedicures. He was massaged, lotioned, and then taken to an area where he was instructed to lie back. Harry closed his eyes and relaxed. Aside from a few painful procedures, he felt entirely pampered, and was beginning to hope that Malfoy scheduled him back regularly. He had almost drifted off to sleep when a gentle finger pried one eyelid open and shone the lit end of a medi-wand into it. Harry jumped, but was rapidly settled back into place by two hands on his shoulders. After both of Harry’s eyes had been examined, the Medi-Wizard (so identified by the badge on his lapel) took a few minutes to custom mix several solutions. Harry figured that he must be undergoing a physical examination as well, and wondered if he had an eye infection brewing. He wasn’t in any pain, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the doctor found something to be worried about. After all, he’d spent the last few nights sleeping on the floor in Malfoy’s room, and could easily have scratched his lens or gotten dust in it. If anything, these Italians seemed very thorough, and probably just wanted to leave him in perfect condition when his master came to collect him.

Feeling confident that he was in good hands, Harry readily drank the potion that was offered him. It was a rust orange color, and tasted intensely of carrots, although there were clearly other medicinal ingredients in the mix. The Medi-Wizard addressed him, gesturing widely with his hands toward Harry’s eyes. Harry tried to look as if he were paying attention, although the words meant nothing to him. Finally, he was tipped back again, and the dropper dripped four drops of a cool solution into his left eye, and seven into his right. The Medic mashed his eyelids together to spread the potion around, and then pulled his lids down again to administer another fluid. As soon as he did so this time, Harry felt an incredible pressure in his eye sockets, and the world began to darken and blur. 

He immediately had the sense that something was wrong, and tried to move from the reclining chair he was in. Hands came again on his shoulders forcing him back down, but Harry wasn’t going to go without a fight. He struggled and shouted, and swung his arms, but to no avail. Several more people rushed toward him to hold him in place, and within ten seconds, his field of view had gone entirely black. Harry shifted into full panic mode and wrenched his body to and fro against the restraining arms holding him down.

 

 

Draco had just been returning to the groom to pick up his new and improved Harry Potter when he heard a violent shout, followed by a harsh directive calling for more people to help hold the slave down. He had a sinking feeling that it was his own slave causing all the trouble, and quickened his pace through the gates. A quick scan pointed him in the direction of the noise, and when Draco neared the cluster of people, he realized that his fear had been correct. He felt an anger rising inside of him. Just when he thought he’d be able to go and leave Potter on his own, here he was, starting trouble at the groomers. This was likely to cost him extra money, and worse, he might lose face, and damage Blaise’s reputation.

He rolled up his sleeves as he stalked into the center of the crowd, squeezing past other grooms who’d rushed to help. “Perdano, Scusi. Egli appartiene a me… Qual è il problema?”

Too many people began shouting at him at once, some explaining the situation, and others screeching at him to control his slave. Draco crouched and waved them all away then grabbed Harry, who was still flailing, by the shoulders. “Potter! Damn it, Potter!” He’d no sooner gotten the words out of his mouth then Harry froze.

“Master?” Harry paused, then launched himself in the direction of the voice. He clambered half onto Malfoy’s lap and threw his arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly. His muscles were bunched and tense, causing him to shake.

Draco blinked for a moment, trying to process the situation. Then his hands went around Harry’s waist, and he tried to pull the slave off of him, to no avail. “What’s your bloody problem?” he snapped, his irritation rising as the crowd stood and watched their exchange, rather than dispersing.

“I’m blind! I’m blind….I’m blind!” Harry panted in a panicked voice.

Draco’s stomach dropped out and he suddenly realized what was going on. He’d failed to warn Harry or give him any sort of notice about the procedure to fix his vision. He’d simply signed the waiver and went on his way without another thought about how Harry might react. He didn’t even think how it would affect him, and especially not knowing what was going to happen…of course he thought he’d been blinded. He would be unable to see for an entire day, and only blurry shapes for the second until his eyes had remolded themselves properly. And after everything he’d done to Harry, the first thing the man did was seek him out and hold onto him, seeking protection. It made Draco feel like an arse.

“For fuck’s sake.” Draco’s angry tone caused several people to flinch. “You’re not blind. I mean, not permanently. I had your eyes fixed. To get rid of your specs. So you can see properly…” With each word, he felt more and more sheepish, and his tone fell away until he was nearly mumbling. “You should be able to see by tomorrow night, at the earliest.” He added.

Harry began to relax as he processed the information, but his heart was still thudding in his chest. “You didn’t tell me,” he whispered.

At that point, Harry looked so young and vulnerable, so scared, that Draco couldn’t help but smooth his hair back from his forehead and comb his fingers through the neatly shorn locks. “I know.” He kissed his slave’s forehead impulsively. “I forgot. I-“ Draco bit his lip and held in the apology that had been so forthcoming.

The Medi-Wizard cleared his throat, and then addressed Draco, now that it seemed he’d managed to calm his slave.

“The doctor’s got to finish the procedure so you don’t go blind permanently.” Draco advised. “There’s another round of drops, and then they’ll bandage you so nothing gets in while you’re healing. You’ll stay still now, won’t you?”

Harry swallowed and then nodded, allowing himself to be pried out of Draco’s grasp and placed back in the chair. He relaxed a bit more when he felt his master move closer to him, and lay a hand on his left upper arm.

“Come here,” Draco said softly when all was finished and paid for. He caught Harry’s out stretched hand and pulled him close to pet him again. Against all odds, he felt intensely bad about Harry’s reaction, and not just because it had made him look bad, although that was certainly a part of it. “Alright?” He took Harry’s face between his hands and tipped it upward so that he could examine the bandages that covered the upper third of his face.

Harry nodded and tentatively reached his arms around Malfoy again. It was nice to be held for once, even if it had come at the expense of his eye sight.

“Can you tolerate a side along, or will it be too much?” Draco hoped that Harry was fine with it, because he certainly was in no mood and his slave was in no shape to wrestle their way back through the market place again, let alone worrying about finding transportation back to the villa.

He bobbed his head with wordless affirmation and sniffed, grateful when Malfoy’s arm went around his back to support him. With no visual cues to go by, he felt incredibly off balance and dizzy even. When they disapparated, the world spun around him, and he felt even sicker than he had the first time he’d side-alonged with Dumbledore.

Back at the villa, Draco led Harry to the couch and made him sit. With a wave of his wand, he’d removed Harry’s shoes and sent them out of the way, and then he eased Harry back against the pillows. “Medi-Wiz said you should rest quietly.”

Harry nodded again. “Yes, Master.” He said softly, then sniffled, raising one hand to brush at his bandages where they were wet.

Draco bit his lip. “Does…does it hurt much?” He and everyone he’d ever been friends with had been blessed with perfect vision. He’d never known anyone who’d undergone an eye rejuvenation procedure, and the only thing he knew about it was what the groom had told him before he’d signed his name to authorize it, which wasn’t much.

Harry shifted uneasily, unused to such concerned attention, especially from the likes of Malfoy. “No. It’s only that my eyes keep twitching and they feel like they’re bulging out of my head. I can’t help it…they’re not tears, really. Just, they keep watering. You know…I can’t help it.”

“Right…” Draco shifted uneasily. He hadn’t really thought through this ordeal of caring for his slave alone-bit, either. He was just starting to realize what a responsibility the whole thing was: owning another person… “Well,” He said, grateful that Harry couldn’t see him at this moment of weakness, during his time of rationalization. “You ought to just rest up then. You…ah…you’ll tell me if you’re hungry, or need to use the loo, or anything, won’t you?”

Harry almost smiled to himself, and would have if the whole situation wasn’t so damned uncomfortable for them both. Instead, he simply agreed again. “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”


	19. Chapter 19

Draco had poured himself a tumbler of firewhiskey, but the first sip soured on his tongue and he hadn’t touched it since. He was sitting in a chair near the sofa Potter occupied. His posture was terrible; he was hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his hands on either side of his face. But Draco never could think properly when his back was straight as a ramrod.

He’d had difficulty taking his mind off the way Harry had clung to him in his moment of panic, looking to be saved from the strangers that he thought had blinded him. After everything Draco had done to him, despite the physical and verbal abuse, Harry trusted him to make everything all right. Typical, stupid, trusting, Gryffindor.

Draco sighed silently and watched Harry turn onto his side on the sofa. His breathing was still soft and even-keeled, and he was certain that the slave had fallen asleep. He looked at the way his body was folded in on itself, curled tightly with knees drawn up. Harry always slept like that, at least since Draco had owned him; compacting his body into the smallest shape possible. But now, well, now he seemed smaller, slighter, more fragile than he ever had before. And Draco realized that he’d been treating Harry like a thing to be broken, instead of something delicate and breakable.

It wasn’t that Harry Potter was a frail creature by any means, no. But instead, was a person who had endured the pain of too much responsibility at a young age. Harry was of a resilient nature, who was likely to endure whatever circumstance he came upon. Still, Draco couldn’t help but wonder why he had chosen the fate he did by putting himself on the auction block, when surely it could only mean more challenges to meet, more tough times ahead…

Harry Potter was not weak, but had weaknesses, like any other wizard. And his were more complicated now, without a wand to call his own, without a means of defending himself against any sort of trouble that might come his way.

Draco thought back to the things Blaise had said to him regarding Harry, and then thought about how surprised he’d been to see Alexei, still serving, after his first contract had gone past. None of the slaves at The Manor had ever agreed to stay on beyond their contractual obligations, and most of them made a bee-line for the door the moment their boxes unlocked their wands. There was something to be said about the way Blaise comported himself, and the way he treated Alexei, who was happy to stay on with him, despite his inclinations and proclivities, which, Draco knew from experience could get rather depraved from time to time. 

It seemed to be a requirement, almost, for those living in Slytherin, to enjoy some form of debauchery or the other, and they encouraged it amongst one another. It had been rumored once, that Harry Potter had almost been sorted into the Slytherin House, and Draco wondered if it had anything at all to do with his now obvious masochistic tendencies. With that sort of inclination, he might have enjoyed spending time in the Slytherin common area, and it was no wonder that Draco, raised in a rather sadistic household himself, found that quality of Potter’s incredibly attractive…

 

 

Harry took a sharp breath and licked his lips as he began to stir. He made a small noise, and his hands moved to his face. His fingertips touched the bandages, feeling them gingerly out to their borders, and then tried to press his fringe back down over his scar, only it was too short now to do anything but tickle the top-most portion of the lightening bolt shaped defect. He pressed his palm flat over the mark for a long moment, as if he didn’t like it to be on display, and then he pulled at one edge of the bandage with his fingernails as though he might be able to cover it from the bottom up.

Quite telling, that. It meant that Harry was full of as much bluster as Draco himself, and maybe more, if he was so insecure about the very blemish that had made him famous in the first place. Didn’t he know that wizards everywhere admired the mark as if it were the very thing that gave Harry his courage and talent?

Harry squirmed, then pushed himself into a sitting position, tilting his head this way and that as though he were listening for something. Finally, he called out, “M-master?!”

Draco straightened and moved to the edge of the chair. “Yes?” He said softly.

Harry flinched. He clearly hadn’t realized that Draco was so close to him. Then he started to flush. “Oh…I…oh.” He bit his lip and looked uneasy.

“Did you want something?” Draco questioned.

“Well…I…uh,” Harry ruffled a hand through his hair sheepishly.

“The loo?” Draco guessed.

“Yeah…” Harry breathed with a grateful smile.

Draco pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand. “Alright, come along.”

Harry wavered into a standing position and took an awkward and slow step forward. He frowned, and looked like he was concentrating on something. He took another step, and Draco realized that he was trying to picture the layout of the room, and his place in it. He crossed to Harry and seized his outstretched forearm, pulling the man toward him. Harry shuffled, then stumbled, and Draco caught him before he fell.

“Merlin, you are graceless, aren’t you?” He heard himself say, and then immediately regretted it.

Harry’s face was as red as Weasley-hair and he mumbled his apologies.

Draco swallowed and tried to be more considerate as he led his unsighted slave to the toilet.

“I…er…” Harry laughed nervously, then chewed his lip for a moment after he fished himself out of his trousers. “Could you point me please, Master?”

Draco awkwardly nudged Harry forward until his shins hit the cool porcelain bowl, and then pushed down the top of his hand until he thought the aim would reach the target true. “Alright, go ahead,” he mumbled, his own ears pink.

The only time Draco had been in a similar situation was when Goyle was too rat-arsed to stand after a party, and he and Vincent had to brace him on either side to hold him upright to use the john. Of course, he’d made Vincent do all the pointing then…at least Harry was capable of holding his own prick to piss.

Perhaps even more of a joke was when Draco realized he would be responsible for the meals until Harry could see again…that night, they ended up with some strangely assembled sandwiches, but Harry hadn’t complained. 

When it came time for bed, he had an awkward time of undressing Harry, who hadn’t bothered reminding Draco that he was fully capable of doing that himself.

“Alright, come on then.” Draco announced, and Harry turned toward him with a strange look. “On the bed, I mean.” He patted the mattress for emphasis. It was his turn to look confused when Harry clambered onto the duvet, and then posed on all fours, bracing himself. Then it struck him that the only time he’d ever allowed Harry on the bed had been for spanking or fucking, and that this position was appropriate for either. He reached out tentatively and caressed Harry’s shoulder, then ran his hand down the slave’s bare back. “I think you’ve had a long day. I meant for you to sleep here…” Draco said carefully.

Harry shifted his body into the touch and lowered his head thoughtfully. “Oh…” He said. “Thank you, Master.” His words were careful as he settled himself at the foot of the bed, which was where Alexei had told him he sometimes slept when Blaise allowed him to stay the night in his suite.

The mattress dipped when Draco settled between the sheets, and there was the familiar rustling sounds as he fluffed his pillows and arranged himself under the covers. He’d turned out the lights and flopped onto his side when another thought crossed his mind.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Master?”

“If you’re cold…you can pull the duvet over…”

“Thank you, Sir.” Harry sounded incredulous at the suggestion, as if it were the nicest thing he’d ever heard. And it made Draco feel once more like an arse.

 

 

The following morning, Draco caught Harry slinking off the mattress.

“Where’re you going, Potter?” He said, his voice rife with amusement at the prospect of Harry stumbling about the villa, naked and sightless.

“Hmmm, I was going to see if I could make it to the kitchen,” he replied honestly.

“And make my tea?” Draco’s eyebrows arched deeply and he smirked with amusement.

“Well, I was going to try…”

“Forget the tea, Harry.”

“But, I-“ he frowned.

“If you burn down the villa, it will be Zabini who murders you…” Draco threw back the covers and eased out of bed. He came around and took Harry by the elbow, steering him back into the center of the room. “Let’s get cleaned up, and we’ll go for breakfast…” He started to steer them toward the bathroom again. “Because if I burn down the villa, Zabini will murder me.”

Harry grinned, a little too easily for Draco’s tastes, but the smile was genuine, and infectious, and he couldn’t help but return it, even if the sodding slave couldn’t see him.

 

 

Breakfast had nearly turned into an exercise in futility as well, proving that Draco didn’t always think through his decisions before he made them…

Harry was sitting across from him in a small café, with his bandages glamoured and wearing a pair of Blaise’s over-sized sunglasses, just listening to Draco prattle off his usual list of breakfast foods. Halfway through, Draco realized that expecting Harry to find the food on his plate with a fork, and then manage to get it into his mouth without a Godric-awful mess on their hands was a little much. They weren’t exactly in a setting where he could feed his slave from his hand, either, without drawing too many questioning stares. He cancelled the entire order and settled for a plate of pastries and tea for them both.

Afterwards, he’d attempted to take a stroll through one of the quieter gardens, his arm linked carefully through Harry’s to lead him, but without sight of the footing on the path, he stumbled or stubbed his feet too many times. They returned to the villa to sit in Blaise’s rather small, though lovely garden, with Draco on a low bench and Harry at his feet. After a lengthy silence between them, Draco spoke.

“Why did you do it, Harry?”

“Ah…Do what, Master?” Harry questioned, licking his lips.

“Go into hiding after graduation…enroll at The Academy…sign yourself off for three years…give up a life of fame and fortune to grovel at someone’s feet…” Draco ticked off a number of scenarios, Harry’s answer to any of which would be highly illuminating.

Harry considered his response for a minute. “Fame and fortune have never interested me.”

Draco snorted.

“No, it’s true. I didn’t ask for any of it. I spent my youth growing up with Muggles who hated me, and I could never figure out why. And then, I turned eleven, and my life changed, and I got dropped with a load of bollocks about being the savior of some world I didn’t even know existed. And I didn’t ‘go into hiding’, I went to Romania for the summer with Ron, and then I signed up for the academy, and then you found me…”

“Which brings me back ‘round to the question of why you signed up at Viteazul’s in the first place…” Draco mused.

Harry’s ears started to pink and he was quiet.

“Come on, now, Harry.” Draco prompted. “We’ve all got deviances on the back burner, just most of us aren’t as dedicated as you…and if you don’t tell me, I’m afraid I shall have to punish you.” He tried his hand with what he regarded as gentle coaxing, and restrained his first urge to grab and twist the slave’s ear until he was practically on the ground, demanding to know if his hearing was functional.

“Ivan.” Harry managed to choke. “He…showed me everything.”

“Ivan-Ivan?” Draco said incredulously. “From Viteazul’s ?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And how did you get to know him?”

“He works with Charlie, taming dragons.” Harry said.

“Tames more than dragons, doesn’t he?” Draco snickered with amusement, and Harry nodded, biting his lip. “And what was so fascinating about him? What did he do for you that was different from what you’d had before?”

“He…took care of me, but he made things…exciting.”

For Draco to see Harry struggling so with conversation was almost amusing. It was clear that Harry was embarrassed to admit what he liked. “Dominated you, you mean?”

Harry nodded.

“Spanked you?”

Another affirmation.

Draco pulled on his shirt cuffs, which was something he tended to do when he was thinking. “But you didn’t find him cruel?”

“No,” Harry shook his head immediately.

“So why didn’t you stay on with him then, if you liked him so much?”

“I was supposed to, only…” Harry’s voice trailed away and his head turned to one side, as though if he could see, he would be looking off into the distance.

“Only what, Harry?” Draco took the slave’s chin between his forefinger and thumb and re-directed his face toward him.

“Only you…” he started, then stopped, and tried again. “Only the auction got botched and I got sold for real…there was another arrangement with Ivan…but it fell through…”

Draco smiled with self-satisfaction. So his upfront offer had not only bested all the other customers from a shot at owning Harry Potter, but one of Viteazul’s own trainers. “Regrets?” He carded his fingers through Harry’s shortened locks, then wiped his thumb across the scar on his forehead as though it were a smudge that could be washed away.

Harry’s face darkened a shade and he fell silent once more.

And though he’d brought it on himself, Draco didn’t care for that response. He took a handful of Harry’s hair and yanked his head to the side. “I asked you a question, Potter. And in case you didn’t hear me before, I’m not opposed to beating a response out of you.”

“Yes!” Harry gasped. “I mean, no! I mean, it’s hard to say….sometimes…”

“And why is that?” His grip loosened and Harry’s head fell into his lap, where he began to stroke it idly again.

“I….it’s…” Harry tried to choose his words carefully. “I can’t ever tell if you want me to say what you want to hear, or what I was trained to say, or if you want me to be honest. I don’t know how to be for you all the time…”

“But you knew how to be for Ivan, didn’t you?”

Harry’s mouth opened, then closed. He turned his cheek against Draco’s thigh and sighed. “It was different with him.”

“Because you liked him?” Draco pressed.

Harry knew better than to answer that question with a yes or no response. “Because…because his expectations were lower.” He seemed surprised to hear himself say so.

“And mediocrity suits you?”

“No,” Harry said thoughtfully.

“And why not?”

“Because it doesn’t suit you, Master.” Harry’s voice became almost a whisper.

“Ho!” Draco said triumphantly. “That was the response of all responses!” He took Harry’s head between his hands again, and lifted the man’s face so that he could study it. “That was good, Harry. Very good.” He kissed the middle of the slave’s forehead and smoothed his hair back.

Harry relaxed under the praise and gave a tentative smile. Being blinded had perhaps been the best thing for him since his purchase, yet.


	20. Chapter 20

Draco looked down at the slave kneeling between his knees. His face was impassive, expression neutral. He’d maintained his posture for some time, while Draco read the paper and more or less ignored him. The bandages wrapped around the top portion of his head were loosening and frayed. Draco frowned. That didn’t settle well with his fastidious nature, and it was surprising to him that he hadn’t noticed their sad state sooner.

He folded the paper in his lap then reached out slowly toward Harry. “Can you see anything under there?” he questioned, taking the slave’s head in his hands.

Harry jumped in place, startled by the touch and the voice that broke the longstanding silence. Then he gave a faint shake of his head. “No, Sir, it’s just dark.”

Draco sighed and fingered the cotton strips. Now that his mind was on the bandages, he wouldn’t be able to leave them alone until they were off and out of sight. And, the healer had said that Harry might regain his eye-sight as early as this evening, though not likely until the following morning. If there was anyone who was likely to make a speedy recovery, it had to be Harry Potter, destroyer of dark lords, quidditch player extraordinaire, and all-around swell-guy, didn’t it?

“What do you say we take these off, hmm?” He waited for Harry to agree with him, though it was an inevitable circumstance.

“Yes, thank you, Master.” Came his soft voice.

Draco reached between his thigh and the arm of the chair he was sitting in for his wand. He drew it up slowly and tapped the knotted end of the bandages once. The cotton strips came undone from their fastenings, and slowly unraveled onto the floor. When the last of it had fallen away, Harry was left sitting on his heels with his eyes closed.

Draco sighed in exasperation. If the idiot had had his eyes closed the entire while…of course he hadn’t seen anything. “Open your eyes, Harry.” He was irritated that he even had to command such a thing.

Harry’s eyelids fluttered a bit, then scrunched shut again. “Bright,” he mumbled, before cracking his eyes open to thin slits.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Draco reached toward him and pried one eye open with his finger and thumb, then examined him brusquely. “Can you see alright? Have any pains?” He waved his hand back and forth in front of Harry’s face several times.

Harry blinked repeatedly until his eyes became accustomed to the light, averting his gaze to the floor where the glare wasn’t so harsh on his newly reformed pupils. At first, everything had a hazy halo to it, but the more he blinked, the clearer the world became.

“I…” He began with amazement, seeing the world without his glasses for the first time since early childhood. He touched his face as if he were going to adjust the way his spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose, but of course they weren’t there. “Yes, I can see, Master.” He looked up toward Malfoy then, locking their gaze together.

Draco’s breath caught the moment Harry looked at him, and he had to force himself to swallow. Had Potter’s eyes always been so green, or was it only that his recent makeover had reigned in his slovenly appearance so much that Draco was just noticing for the first time? His thumb traced the angle of Harry’s smooth jaw-line before his hand made it’s way into the slave’s hair, notably shorter, though still long enough to get a firm grip in. The line of Harry’s throat, when his head was pulled back, nearly begged Draco to rake his teeth across it. 

“Well,” Draco cleared his throat and released his grip on his slave, letting the boy slump back against him. “Now that you’re no longer an invalid, I suppose we ought to address your punishment.”

“P-punishment, Master?” Harry’s entire posture stiffened, and he withdrew from Draco slightly, his eyes widening with fear. He dreaded Draco’s punishments.

“Yes, Potter.” Draco said, running his fingers around the back of Harry’s neck and pulling him closer again. “We’re going to address the matter of public behavior…You didn’t think that I forgot about your little incident at the groomer’s, did you?”

Harry’s face went pale with the exception of two small dots of color, high on his cheekbones. His mouth hung open a moment as he formulated a response. “No, Master. Of course not.” He lowered his head and appeared to slump, dejectedly. 

“Tell you what,” Draco lifted his chin gently. “Why don’t you go on and fetch what ever it is you’d like to have your spanking with?”

Harry blinked up at Draco for a moment, then dropped his head to his master’s thigh.

“Oh, come on, Harry!” Draco snorted. “Thought you were past this!” He nudged Harry with his knee. “Get along, before I change my mind about the length and duration of your punishment.” Harry’s unintelligible mumble prompted him to lift the boy’s head by his hair again. “Sorry?”

Harry licked his lips and peered up at Draco. “Would you use your hand, Master?”

Had that been what he’d said? “My…hand?” Draco questioned, frowning. “Whatever for?”

“More personal, Master.” Harry whispered, and blushed.

“Not because you think I’ll tire sooner with my bare hand?” Draco questioned suspiciously.

Harry shook his head immediately. “If you prefer, I’ll go get something now…” He started to rock back on his heels but Draco reached out with one hand to halt him.

“The only place you’re going is over my knees…”

Harry positioned himself and then was still while Draco took his time rolling up his shirt sleeves. “You realize of course, that were we back in England, your actions at the groomer’s surely would have sullied my name and reputation…”

“Yes, Master. Please forgive me…” Harry said repentantly. 

“Hmmm, we’ll see,” Draco murmured. “Count.”

 

After ten strokes, Harry’s master paused to admire his handiwork. He particularly enjoyed the overlapping outlines of his palm and five fingers that burned red in the pale skin of his slave’s arse. He pinched several areas that looked as if they could use more color, and then a number of spots that were darker than the rest. Harry hissed but maintained his posture with his hands on the back of his neck. Alexei was teaching him well after all, but that was not unexpected, not from such a well trained and well behaved boy.

“We will have to wait until after Blaise has returned to find out whether or not he will suffer any repercussions from your actions as well. And if he has, I’ll leave you in his hands to take your punishment.”

“Yes, Master. I’m very sorry, Master.” Harry whispered. But his mind was already travelling back to that day in the garden. If his punishment was to be anything like what Alexei had suffered…well, that wouldn’t be so bad, would it? His cock, already hard, twitched against Draco’s leg at the idea.

“Oh, we like that, do we?” Draco said with amusement. “Oh, you do put on a rather good show, Harry, of not wanting to be punished. But I think you quite enjoy it, don’t you?” He pulled on Harry’s hair again so that he might see the flaming color of the man’s face.

“Yes, Sir.” Harry was forced to admit.

“As I thought,” Draco hummed in satisfaction before resuming the spanking.

“Eleven, Master.” Harry counted. “Twelve, Master.”

Draco stopped at thirty. Harry’s eyes were scrunched tightly shut and he tried to focus on his breaths as a distraction from his burning arse and the throbbing of his cock, which was bent down and trapped against his master’s thigh. Two or three good ruts would give him sound release of his condition, but then he’d be in for another spanking, perhaps even a whipping, if Draco was angered enough. 

Harry’s master flexed his fingers open and shut, his palm stinging from the spanking he’d given. He would not be hard pressed to continue, except that he had learned some time ago that Harry responded much better to denial-type tactics than he did to outright physical abuse.

Draco let his hands linger over the warm skin of Harry’s buttocks, and then began to pinch and knead the flesh in his hands. It was nearly irresistible, and the way his slave tried so hard to stay still and not make any sounds was obvious. It was not long, however, before Draco was able to wrest a groan from him, and he smirked with satisfaction.

“What you need,” He said to Harry. “Is an exercise in self-control.” With that, he lifted his wand and transfigured the nearby tea saucer, empty for sometime, into a rubber conical shaped object. He brought it around to Harry’s mouth. “Open.” Draco commanded simply, bumping it into the slave’s lips. “Get it good and wet.” 

After a minute of listening to Harry slurp away on the plug, he brought it around to Harry’s other end. With one hand, he separated the cheeks of his slave’s arse, and with the other, slowly inserted the plug into his anus. Harry groaned at the sudden intrusion, and wavered in place, balancing precariously on Draco’s thighs with his hands on either side of his neck. Draco gave it a final nudge and a wiggle to be sure that the toy was settled firmly, then drew Harry’s hands down and pulled him into a sitting position on his lap. He flicked his wand to brighten the lights, and summoned a book off the shelf beside the fireplace.

“Now.” Draco said, opening the book and holding it with one hand. His other arm slipped around Harry’s torso and he took firm hold of the slave’s nipple between his finger and thumb. “Every time I do this,” He rolled and pinched the bud tightly, and Harry’s hips rocked forward of their own accord. “You’re to turn the page.”

“Y-yes, Master…” Harry stammered, sucking in a deep breath.

“And you’re to sit very still. No squirming.”

“Yes, Master.” Harry promised with a gulp, not certain that he’d be able to keep his word.

At the third twist of his nipple, Harry moaned, and Draco’s fingers paused, holding the flesh extended and taut between his fingers. “Be quiet, would you? I am trying to read.”

Harry lowered his head, bit his lip, and swallowed again. He was going to try, very hard, to make his master pleased with him, no matter what.

 

 

A loud crack startled the pair occupying a single chair in the sitting room, causing Draco’s fingers to involuntarily tighten, and Harry to automatically turn the page. Blaise and Alexei had appeared suddenly, and as soon as they had stable footing, Blaise turned to his subordinate and said, “Ay, me. Get me a sodding drink, will you?”

“Yes, Master Blaise, right away.” Alexei bent to place their shrunken trunks on the floor, and then took off around the corner.”

Blaise rubbed his eyes with his fingers, and then pinched the bridge of his nose a moment. When he dropped his hand with a sigh, he finally seemed to notice Draco and Harry, both staring at him. He cracked a grin. “Well, well, well. Look at the two of you, getting along in my absence I see. Haven’t killed him or wrecked the place…” He took several steps nearer to them and reached out toward Harry’s face, pausing only to question Draco. “See you’ve been to the groom’s; may I?”

“Of course,” Draco acquiesced, closing his book and setting it on the side table. He watched as Blaise turned Harry’s face side to side, and examined him as even Draco himself had yet to do.

“Told you they were good…are you happy?”

Draco shrugged noncommittally. Just got the bandages off not too long ago. Haven’t had the chance yet to decide…” His hand dropped and he lightly fingered Harry’s straining erection, wet with pre-come. He felt Harry’s fingers tighten on his kneecap, but to his delight, the slave was quiet.

Alexei returned and presented a tray to Blaise. It held two tumblers with ice and firewhiskey. Blaise tipped his head to Draco, indicating he should choose first, then lifted the remaining glass. They lifted them together in silent toast, and then Blaise took a deep swallow.

“That bad, eh?” Draco observed, his fingers idly caressing his slave while he sipped the spicy concoction. 

“Ah,” Blaise waved his hand as he crossed to settle down into another chair. “You know how it is with family. Everyone wants to know how you are, what you’re doing, when you’re getting married, heirs, blah, blah, blah…” He gestured wildly, sloshing the whiskey in his glass, then crossed one leg over his knee. “Forget that Vista is laying there, cold and stiff. Well, that’s one’s over, onto the next…” He sighed and rolled his eyes, then took another drink. “Speaking of, Pansy sends her regards.”

“Does she?” Draco’s eyes widened and he pushed at Harry. “Down you go,” He murmured. “Hands and knees, that’s a good boy.” He slumped more comfortably in the chair, then lifted his feet and crossed them over Harry’s back. “And you saw her…?”

“Oh,” Blaise shook his glass, jangling the ice. “At the funeral. I told you. Practically betrothed, we are.”

“Hmmm,” Draco mused, sipping. “You’ll have the damned most obnoxious children.”

“I know.” Blaise grinned almost happily, then gestured to Alexei, who was just returning from taking care of their travelling things. He fluttered his hand, and the slave slipped to his knees and laid his head in Blaise’s lap. Blaise smoothed his hair down and pet him thoughtfully. “Yours, no doubt will be a frightening mix of stuck-up, ego-centric beasts and vain, ignorant princesses…”

Draco flicked the V-sign at him with a scowl. “You know, things were quite pleasant after you left…”

“Ho!” Blaise laughed at him. “So sorry that I’ve returned to my own home and intruded on you. Feel free to leave at any time.”

Draco shimmied further down into the chair cushions and took another long drink. “Ahhh.” He sighed. “ ’M actually quite comfortable at the moment, thanks.”

Blaise snorted and gestured with his glass. “And Harry looks like he’s having a right jolly time being used as furniture, mate…”

“Pity, that,” Draco countered with a shrug.

“Actually,” Blaise frowned. “I rather think he’s making a puddle on my hardwood floors…” He leaned forward to get a closer view, and then nodded in confirmation. “Looks like the sod really is getting off on it after-all…he’s a dripping mess! Perhaps you ought to take leave and have him serviced properly.”

“He’s having a lesson in self-control at the moment, and I’ll thank you not to meddle in my affairs. Although…” Draco ruffled a hand through his hair and set his drink to one side. “I probably ought to inform you of the reasons for his lesson; after all, you are somewhat involved…”

“Oh?”

 

 

By the time Draco had brought Blaise up to speed with recent events, Harry’s face was flaming red and his knees were staring to ache. Luckily for him, Draco was getting uncomfortable, and lifted his legs off of his slave’s lower back. He placed his feet back on the floor then let one hand dangle over the edge of the arm chair. He snapped once to get Harry’s attention, and then began to pet him gently when Harry came around to sit on his haunches, leaning against the side of the chair.

Draco and Blaise caught up on the past few days events, and the on-going drama in their lives, and after sometime, Harry found himself dozing off. His head dipped away from Draco’s hand for the second time, and then he found himself suddenly awake, fingers wound tightly in his hair and yanking his head back as far as his neck would allow.

“Sorry, are we boring you, Potter?”

“N-no, Master!” Harry disagreed, and tried to swallow.

“Well, Blaise-y…” Draco got to his feet, dragging Harry several inches forward. “Looks like its time for me to take active interest in my slave again. You will excuse me, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Blaise smirked, pausing to caress Alexei’s upturned face fondly. “I have my own interests to tend to anyway.”

Draco guided Harry in front of him, and then nudged him with the ball of his foot. “Well? Get a move on. And make a show of it, if you don’t want to spend the night trussed and tanned like a holiday goose.”

Harry took off down the hallway, his arse sashaying widely side to side and hoping it was enough of a show to please his master, because otherwise, he was out of ideas.

 

“Up on the bed.” Draco commanded as he began to unbutton his shirt. “On your back. Get your knees up.” He shrugged out of his shirt and slung it into one corner before turning to look at Harry, who was looking like quite the wanton scrap. “Wider.” Draco unzipped his trousers and let them fall. He took hold of his own rapidly hardening prick and aimed it at Harry, coming around the corner of the bed so that he could see it. “This what you want?”

Harry licked his lips and husked, “Yes, Master.” He pulled his own thighs wider apart. 

Draco lazily fisted his own erection, gauging his slave’s interest before conjuring a handful of lubricant. He slicked himself and thrust into his own hand with vigor. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

“Ah, Master, please!” Harry said, licking his lips again. “I’ve been waiting for you all night, wanting you to…to fuck me. Please…”

Draco grinned. Hearing Harry say those things to him was never going to grow old. He trailed back around to the bottom of the bed then hitched one knee up onto the mattress and stroked himself a few more times for good measure. “You want my cock?”

Harry groaned and his hips shifted. “Please, Master. I need you inside of me.”

Draco lifted his other knee up, and he planted himself between Harry’s thighs. “You think you deserve that kind of reward after your recent behavior?” He stroked the head of his penis against his subordinate’s thigh.

“N-n-no…” Harry whispered. “But, Master, please…” His own cock released another dribble of pre-come. 

Draco’s fingers traced around the edge of the plug filling Harry’s hole, and he pushed it forward, then gave it a jiggle before withdrawing it.

Harry gasped at the loss and his fingers dug tighter into his legs. He arched his back and pushed his hips forward.

“Greedy beast.” Draco accused with a whisper, lining his cock up with the slave’s loose pucker.

Harry pressed his lips together and tried to stifle a moan as he was filled with a single thrust.

“Oh, no.” Draco admonished, reaching down. He grasped Harry’s chin between his hands and turned his face forward. “Tonight, I want everyone to hear how much you enjoy it when I fuck you.” He pulled out and then pushed back in, their skin slapping together with the force of it. “So let’s hear it.”

Draco plunged into him repeatedly, each thrust drawing louder and longer vocalizations from Harry until he was nearly matching him in tempo with his own grunts.

“Come on, Potter!” He said, pumping his hips rapidly, driving into the hot tunnel of flesh below him. Harry’s arse was lifted off the mattress and hovering in mid air, their dual weight supported by his quaking thighs. “Come for me!”

There was but a momentary delay before Draco felt Harry’s orgasm clench around him, and then the splash of hot semen on his abdomen. Harry practically howled, and Draco ground his teeth together, keening as he too, climaxed. He let himself collapse on top of his slave, tangling his fingers in the man’s hair and sucking red marks on his neck while he fought to get his ragged breathing under control.

After a few long minutes, Draco realized that he could hear Blaise and Alexei’s efforts to match them in the other room. He grinned to himself and rolled away from Harry, nearly knocking the discarded butt-plug off the mattress. Swiftly, he caught it and turned back with a gleam in his eye. “Spread.” He instructed again, catching a dribble of his own come that leaked from Harry on the tip of the plug before inserting it again. He paused to watch Harry’s hole clench around the rubber before reaching for his wand to clean himself. “You can thank me now,” He reminded the slave with a nod of his head.

“Master…” Harry breathed. “Thank you…”


	21. Chapter 21

“You know,” Alexei said to Harry as they stood in the kitchen together, preparing their Masters’ morning beverages. “You weren’t bad looking before, but you’re rather handsome now…Master Draco does have impeccable tastes when it comes to appearances.”

“Er, thanks!” Harry blushed slightly at the flattery, but hoped that Draco felt the same way about him. He leaned past Alexei to remove a cup and saucer from the cabinet. His color deepened as he thought about the transfigured teacup, still in place from the night before. He clenched his muscles around the plug, feeling it shift slightly inside of him. “How was your…er, trip?” Harry made an attempt at casual conversation, though he was feeling entirely distracted.

Alexei scowled, then looked behind him as though he were making sure there was no one listening. “I like Master Blaise, really I do, and I don’t mind being shared from time to time, like with Master Draco, but he’s a little free with whom he allows access to me…” He leaned closer to confide directly in Harry’s ear. The both of them were affected by the proximity of their bodies to one another, but did not act, other than to steady one another with the lightest touch of fingertips on shoulders. “And so help me, if he does marry Ms. Parkinson, I will pack my bags faster than you can say blast-ended skrewt!” Alexei moved away just as suddenly, continuing to fold the linen napkin in his hand before he placed it on the serving tray.

Harry’s eyes went wide as he reached for an unfolded linen square for his own tray. “Did he…share you with her?” He folded it quickly and placed it.

“Helped herself, she did...” Alexei went back to tapping the espresso grinds into the filter, and passed the tin of tea to Harry who carefully measured them into two tea balls. “But he didn’t stop her. And if there’s anything that leaves a foul taste in my mouth, it’s….”

The kettles began to boil and Alexei whirled to stop them. He filled Draco’s teacup and small serving pot, then poured the water through the moka for Blaise’s caff. Redirected by his dedication to service, Alexei placed everything hastily on his tray and walked away with nothing more than a nod to Harry.

Harry himself wasn’t offended. He had a similar mission, though had to wait for the tea to finish steeping before he followed Alexei’s footsteps down the corridor. He slipped back inside his master’s bedroom and quietly pushed the door shut before coming around one side of the bed. He settled the tray down on the bedside table, taking care that it was placed in such a way that would preclude being easily knocked over or bumped into, should Draco’s curled and sleeping form make a sudden move. Harry’s eyes flickered over the tray, making sure that everything was placed properly, and seconds before he took a backward step from the bedside table, a hand closed around his wrist. 

Though Harry was startled, he tried not to jump. “Good morning, Master,” He said quietly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”  
“Nonsense.” Draco said, stretching his arms wide and pulling Harry roughly against the bed, by proxy. His eyes flickered over his slave’s form, and he tugged Harry’s arm again, this time with purpose. He knelt hesitantly on the mattress, and Draco’s other hand came up to push at his hip.

At the prompt, Harry slid one leg over Draco’s thighs, shifting his body over him. Their eyes met for a minute, but then Draco made a point of giving his slave the once-over.

“Mmmhm,” Draco grunted, pulling Harry’s hips forward until he could press his morning-erection against the crevice of his slave’s arse, their bodies divided by the bed sheets. “Did you ever think,” he began. “That you would be so eager for me?” He wrapped one hand around Harry’s rigid cock and squeezed. He pressed his thumb into the bead of fluid that welled from the tip, and smeared it around the bell-end of Harry’s prick.

“No, Sir.” Harry whispered. His eyes fluttered shut and his entire body arched toward his master. Then, he groaned softly as he felt his nipples pinched, one after the other.

“Want me now, though, don’t you?”

Harry ground his arse down against Draco’s erection. “Yes, Master, always.”

“Get your arse-end up then,” Draco whispered his command. 

Harry shifted his weight off of his master and onto his knees, and Draco jerked the sheets from between them. His hands shifted over Harry’s hips, then down around to grasp his buttocks. He pulled the man’s cheeks apart and pressed himself upward. 

Draco jerked in surprise as his cock rubbed against the plug: he’d forgotten it was there. He withdrew it hastily and flung it on the floor, leaving Harry to gasp at the sudden loss. “Mhm,” he grunted perfunctorily, and thrust again.  
“Ah,” Harry sighed, twitching and rocking his hips backward, changing the angle and taking Draco more deeply inside of him.

Draco smirked and tucked both of his hands behind his head, leaning into the mattress comfortably. “Alright now, Harry. Get to it. Finish me off before the tea gets cold, or you’re in for a paddling.”

Harry’s master was not very forthcoming with directions following that, and Harry had to take his cues from Draco’s body language, and the few sounds that he allowed to slip past tight lips. Harry was currently rocking his pelvis as fast as he could, bracing his hands on either side of Draco’s head for leverage. Suddenly, Draco grunted and he grabbed at Harry’s hips, pulling them down and holding them so that Harry could only make shallow movements. 

“Fuck, don’t stop.” Draco whispered, widening his legs and thrusting upward. When he came, it was with a load groan, and he pulled Harry’s body, glistening with sweat from exertion, down on top of him. “Bloody hell,” he gasped.  
They spent a moment catching their breath together before Draco reached sideways, letting the back of his knuckles graze the teapot. “You’re in luck, Potter. It’s still warm.”

Harry chuckled into the crook of Draco’s neck. That checking the tea pot had been Draco’s first priority was somewhat amusing.

“Are you laughing at me, you ungrateful sod?” Draco’s voice was cold and serious sounding.

Harry bit his lip and shook his head, but Draco was already shoving him off and over onto his back, then leaning over him. Harry’s heart seemed to be pounding in his throat and he held his breath, wincing, and waiting for a repercussion. 

“You do realize of course that all of Blaise’s pots are charmed with an Ever-Warm spell, don’t you?” Draco seemed rife with amusement, and after a few moments, Harry peeked one eye open to find his master grinning at him, and his own face broke into a smile of relief.

Harry exhaled and Draco curled one hand around the back of his neck, pulling their faces closer together.

“So you fucked like a champ for nothing,” Draco purred in Harry’s ear.

“I’d do it again, too, Master.” Harry responded.

“Cheeky, cheeky,” Draco murmured, letting his fingertips fall over Harry’s bare chest.

Just then, a knock came at the door, and it cracked open several centimeters.  
Draco frowned and fell back against the headboard. He looked toward the doorway before his smile resumed, and he lifted an eyebrow suggestively. “Come to join us, have you, Lexi?”  
The door pushed open wider and Blaise stuck his head in with a wide grin. “Was that an open invitation? Breakfast can wait…”

 

In the weeks that followed, Draco began to think of Harry less and less as a speccy git, which, frankly was hard to do so when said spectacles were floating about somewhere in the bottom of his trunk anyway. Harry, though he had been trying all along to make his master happy, made a concerted effort to pay attention to Draco’s likes and dislikes, through observation of his behavior and reactions. They had found a bit of common ground in the sanctity of Blaise’s villa and with the help of Alexei’s tutelage. Together, the four of them were enjoying a right rowdy time, playing and living together as only blokes can do. Their bliss, however, was not destined to be long-lived…

 

“Fuck.” Draco swore aloud, as he silently read the bit of parchment recently delivered by a large horned owl, that hopped along after him, hooting. “Fuck.” He said it again, and kicked his foot toward the bird. “Shoo. Shoo, damn you. I’m not writing back to him now, so you can go on then, back to the Manor, empty handed.”

The owl chirped loudly and flew the short distance to the arm of the chair nearest Draco. Then, it nipped his forearm with it’s pointy beak hard enough to draw blood.

“You ruddy bastard bird!” Draco exclaimed, rubbing the spot with his hand. He made as if he were going to backhand the owl. It flew up in a great fluster of flapping feathers, clawing at his head. Draco threw up his arms in exasperation and tried to bat the poor thing away.

“It wants a treat, Draco. You know that!” Blaise chastised, leaping off his seat to grab and calm the bird, gesturing with one hand at Alexei who made a mad dash to get something to appease the bird after it’s long journey from England.

“He’s father’s owl, alright!” Draco grumbled, smoothing down his hair with both hands and glowering at the bird as he moved farther away and settled down onto the settee where Blaise had been.

Alexei returned with a small palm-ful of seeds and other delicious items, and after the owl was settled and nibbling happily, he retrieved the parchment from its discarded place on the floor. “Master Draco?” He offered it to him.

 

Draco was skilled at ignoring his father’s owl altogether, by the time it arrived with the fourth letter. Harry had accepted the note on his behalf, and now delivered it to him on hands and knees. Draco removed the letter from Harry’s mouth and moved to set it on top of the growing pile of unopened letters without a second glance.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Blaise warned, sipping from a steaming mug and peering at Draco with disapproval.

“Who asked you?” Draco frowned at Blaise.

He shrugged. “Only that it’s a howler…look at it twitching there…”

“A howler?” Draco straightened and eyed the note suspiciously. “I don’t think I’ve ever received such a thing.” He relinquished his hands from Harry’s hair and picked the envelope back up, it’s motions growing more furious by the second. He bit his lip and looked askance at Blaise, then slid his finger through the seal at the flap. The letter flounced open immediately and began to speak-not yell- in his father’s strained but cool-toned voice.

“My dearest and only son,

I cannot be entirely certain of the meaning behind your most recent behaviors, and your lack of correspondence of late. However, let me assure you that if this note garners no response from you, I will make the trip to the young Master Zabini’s household and collect you myself. I will not continue to tolerate your insolent behavior, which I might add, is incredibly unbecoming of a man of your position. You have an obligation to this family, and now, to the Greengrass family. If you have a sliver of respect remaining in your impertinent and ill-mannered self, you will return to The Manor immediately. Allow me to repeat, I will not be ignored again. I will extend you the courtesy of one day, to allow you to get your international affairs in order. If I do not see you by this time tomorrow evening, spare no second thoughts to the idea that I will have you dragged home, trussed like a common slave, if I must. I trust you will make the proper decision.

Regards.” 

The letter carefully settled down onto the tabletop where Draco sat in shock; his face which had first gone pale, was now coloring at the prospect of being lectured in front of his friend, and worse, two slaves. “Well,” he finally said. “That’s that, then.”

“You’ll leave in the morning, I trust?” Blaise countered with a sigh that matched the heaviness in Draco’s heart.

A faint smile twitched across Draco’s mouth. “Of course.” Even his posture was strained.

“Whiskey, Lexi.” Blaise prompted, nudging the gypsy on his lap. 

Alexei got up at once, looking concerned, and then gestured to Harry, who looked up at Draco for permission.

“Go…” Draco fluttered his hand dispassionately and sank back into the couch cushions.

By the time that the boys returned with the spirits and chilled glasses, Blaise had moved to Draco’s side and was rubbing his back affectionately as Draco sat hunched over, rubbing his own temples and grumbling.

“Can’t do this.” He protested into the space between his knees.

“You can, and you will.” Blaise encouraged. “You’re not of as delicate a constitution as you lead on. We’ve all got familial obligations, and you haven’t even given Astoria a chance. Look at how you’re getting on with Harry, now. Hmm? A month ago you arrived, claiming he was a hopeless case…” Blaise lifted a glass of firewhiskey from the proffered tray and snaked it around in front of Draco. “Take this, will you? A few glasses and you’ll feel better in no time.”

Draco grunted but lowered one hand from the side of his head to grasp the glass.

“And if that doesn’t work…” Blaise grinned wickedly. “The four of us can retire to my suite and I’ll make sure you have a proper send off,”

Draco snorted into his drink as he was trying to take his first sip. After he wiped his mouth, he turned his head to level his eyes with Blaise. “You’re going to do that anyway…”


	22. Chapter 22

Harry awoke, pleasantly warm, in a tangle of limbs whose skin shades ranged from pale  
porcelain to rich brown. With a sigh, he snuggled down against whoever was currently behind him.

Alexei tightened his arm around Harry’s waist and nuzzled the back of his neck a  
moment before breathing into his ear. “Come on, Harry.” He murmured. “Breakfast.”

Harry groaned softly, voicing how they all felt about disrupting the comfortable  
group.  
“Shhh….” Alexei prompted, snaking a hand around to cover Harry’s mouth as he slowly sat  
up. Harry licked at his fingers, tasting salty sweat and traces of other body fluids. Alexei snatched his hand away and wiped it on Harry’s arm before inching off the bottom of the bed. He flicked the bottom of Harry’s foot several times in succession until the man finally made a motion to move away from his Master. 

Draco’s arm tightened around Harry as he began to shift, and Harry froze for a moment. Alexei flicked him again and nodded his head. It took a few more minutes to fully disentangle himself, but Harry finally met Alexei at the foot of the bed. The two of them didn’t hesitate long, stopping only a minute to eye the expanse of rumpled and messy sheets that now lay between their masters.

“Lexi.” Blaise grumbled just as the two of them reached the doorway. “Full breakfast, in  
bed. I duncarewha Draco’s prissy arse wants this morning…”

“Yes, Master.” Alexei whispered, shooting a grin over at Harry.

 

 

By the time the two of them returned with trays piled high with steaming food, Blaise had rolled into the center of the mattress and pulled Draco against him. Draco was feinting sleep, trying to ignore the cares of the world for as long as he could possibly manage. It was not the first time Harry had ever seen Draco blatantly disregard someone, although it was the first time he’d ever witnessed him act to deliberately disobey his father. But then, Harry didn’t really know Draco much at all.

It was late afternoon before Draco was fully roused from the comfort of Blaise’s bed. By then, Harry and Alexei had already packed their trunks. Alexei had shrunken them to a manageable size, and they were lined up on one of Blaise’s end tables.  
Harry was helping his master to dress and was holding up a slim black tie to go with  
the charcoal suit.   
“No tie.” Draco said with a shake of his head, taking the scrap and stuffing it in one of his pockets hastily. Then he undid the top three buttons of his shirt and shoved up the sleeves of his blazer. After glancing quickly in the mirror, he shook a hand through his impeccably combed hair, mussing it.  
“Your father’s going to have a stroke if you come home looking like that,” Blaise observed with a grin.

“I know.” Draco responded and ruffled his hair again.

“And just think,” Blaise said, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms. “It only took you a month and a half in near paradise to pull the stick out…how long do you say before it’s firmly back in there?”

Draco gestured rudely, and Blaise grinned. 

"I give it three days,” Blaise confided in Alexei.  
“Well,” Draco said, turning with a sigh and smoothing a hand down his lapel. After realizing what he’d done, he flustered the fabric deliberately, then shot a dirty look at Blaise’s smirk. “Harry.” He said it with  
a scowl and fluttered his hand toward the trunks.

 

“Yes, Master?” Harry looked at him expectantly.  
“Get our things already, will you? It’s getting late, and I’m certain the last thing Zabini wants is my father on his doorstep.” Draco flattened down his hair absentmindedly, and glanced in the mirror. With a huff, he messed it all again, then sat down on the mattress, folding his arms across his chest. 

Alexei looked to Blaise, who nodded, and then moved to Draco’s feet, laying his head  
in his lap. Draco looked surprised, and dropped his hands to caress the Gypsy slave. 

“Master Draco,” he whispered sadly.

Draco groaned. “Don’t, Alexei. It’s hard enough as it is. Anyway, I’ll be back again. Someone’s going to have to stand up for me when I get married…” He shot a pointed look at Blaise. “You will, won’t you?”

“Of course…” Blaise settled down on the mattress beside Draco and slung an arm around his shoulder. “Some one’s going to have to keep you from offing yourself before the ceremony…”

Draco smiled then and pressed a brief kiss full on Blaise’s mouth. “If only you were a girl… I could probably tolerate the idea of marriage…” He shifted Alexei onto Blaise’s lap and moved to stand.

Blaise looked at him with mock horror and grabbed his own crotch fiercely. “And waste this talent? You’re barking mad!” When Alexei nuzzled the same area, he grinned. “See? Alexei agrees.”

“Of course he does, you pillock.” Draco rolled his eyes and then gestured for Harry to move closer with the  
trunks. “Anyway. Really, we’ve got to be off. I suppose I ought to thank you….for, well, everything really.”

Blaise waved his hand. “Don’t be a stranger for fuck’s sake. I know I don’t have a floo, but Merlin’s beard, it’s only two jumps from England. And I’m overstocked on King’s Crown…you’ll have to pop over for a drink. Bring Astoria, even. I’ll owl Pansy, we can double.”  
Draco groaned audibly. “Alright, now I’m really going!”

“Harry,” Blaise was sure to advise. “Don’t forget where your loyalty lies…"

"Yes, Sir.” Harry said, tucking himself into the crook of Draco’s arm.

“And Harry…” Blaise grinned. “You really do have a brilliant mouth.” 

Harry blushed.

“Aw, fuck off, Zabini!” Draco said cheerfully.  
“Likewise, Malfoy.” Blaise gave him the two-fingered salute, but before he could say another word, his houseguests were gone.

 

Draco and Harry arrived in one of the expansive gardens at The Manor. Draco stumbled in the grass and swore, catching and righting the both of them before they tumbled to the ground.

“Draco? Draco, darling? Oh, ladies, excuse me, won’t you?” a familiar voice called.

 

Draco swore under his breath again and shoved Harry down behind him. If there was one thing he hadn’t been counting on, it was his mother, hosting a tea-party at the very moment that he decided to return home. Likely his father had known about it, and purposefully neglected to tell him about it…

As Narcissa got to her feet and moved toward her son, her long skirt bunched up and over a crouched, wet-faced, and naked slave, who was left behind beside her chair.

Draco fought back his gag reflex. It was one of those parties? Even worse… if there was ever a scenario he  
didn’t want to picture his mother in, it was this: spread-legged at the table, sipping tea and nibbling biscuits, spreading gossip with any number of other elite women of the community while house slaves hunkered down beneath their skirts, licking and laving furiously in an attempt to see which one of the ladies could hold out the longest…the winning lady’s slave would be publically paddled as punishment for failing to deliver an orgasm to his mistress, and afterward he often was surrendered to the other slave-participants afterward to be used and abused for show, and the women’s delight.

He shuddered as Narcissa embraced him, but he allowed her to press a kiss to his  
cheek. “Mother.” He said by way of greeting.

“Oh, Draco, love…” She sighed. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it? Won’t you come say hello to the women?” She gestured toward the table, and Draco felt his stomach clench. “And oh, is this your new one?” She tried to peer around Draco’s side, but Harry was kneeling with his head tucked low, his own face a fiery red as he processed the situation for himself. “Rather shy, isn’t he? Not bad looking from what I can tell…dark haired of course…you always did have a thing for-“

“Mother!” Draco interrupted her. “Father is in the house, I expect?”

She tipped her head to him. "Oh, yes, of course. In the study, waiting, no doubt. Though I can't say he'll be as happy to see you as I am..."

“When is he ever?” Draco grumbled beneath his breath.

Narcissa reached for her son and began to comb her fingers through his hair, smoothing  
it down. She straightened his collar and flattened a wrinkle in his blazer.

 

“Mum!” Draco hissed and stepped back from her. She gave an apologetic smile and Draco glared a moment, then snapped for Harry. “Come on…you.” He said, striding away from the cooing and humming women and their obscene tea party as fast as his legs would carry him. Harry went crawling quickly after him.

 

 

 

Draco was intending on delivering Harry to his bedroom suite and leaving him there to  
unpack while he went to converse with his father. But as luck, or poor luck, would have it, his father came upon them both in the upstairs corridor. Once more, he stepped in front of his slave, leaving the young man huddled behind him, at his feet.

 

“Draco!” Lucius said in a disapproving tone and cast a  
Tempus.

 

The young Malfoy tried not to flinch and instead, straightened his posture and  
looked his father squarely in the eye.

 

“Another hour, and I was coming for you…” Lucius tsked and shook his head.

 

“I was…getting my affairs in order.” Draco deliberately drew one hand up and studied his nail beds.”

 

Lucius scowled. “Well, it’s about damned time you showed your face around here. We’ve  
got a lot to discuss. I’ve been to see Amadeus several times, and there’s the matter of Astoria…”

 

“What’s the matter with her?” Draco drawled. If Harry didn’t know better, he might have giggled.

 

The elder Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Of all the things you should have for your future wife, respect should be first.”

 

Draco fought to keep his eyes from rolling. Lucius continued without noticing. “That your new boy? Let’s see him then. The owls you sent over a month ago have had my interest piqued…” He reached past his son and took a handful of Harry’s dark hair, drawing him forward, squirming, even as Draco protested.

 

Lucius ignored Draco, and yanked Harry’s head back. Even sans glasses and with his eyes scrunched tightly shut, the boy was still recognizable. The way Lucius’ eyes bulged would have been comical, if his reaction to seeing the boy had stopped there. But, Lucius hauled Harry to his feet and shoved him back against one of the walls, causing several nearby picture frames to rattle, and their occupants to immediately start grumbling. His wand was in his hand in a flash, the bottom of his cane clattering to the floor. The slim end of his wand dug harshly into Harry’s cheek. “Potter? Potter!” Lucius raged. “How dare you bring this cretin into our household…Destroyer of the Dark Lord? He nearly ruined me! I’ll bloody kill him…”

 

Draco tried to remain calm. “No, you won’t.”

 

“Excuse me?!” Lucius’ gaze darted toward his son. “In my own house…how dare you?”

 

“If you recall,” Draco continued, stepping closer and pulling his father’s wand neatly from his hand before turning the handle back toward him. “All slavery contracts come standard with a ‘no-killing clause’. If you kill Harry…Potter,” Draco swallowed. “If you kill Potter, you’ll be subject to death yourself, and of course, the loss of our wealth and resources as retribution to…whatever family he has left…likely he’s listed the  
Weasley’s…Mother would be devastated if she lost face to that pathetic excuse for a witch and her clan of ginger piglets…”

 

“Slavery Contract?” It was clear he hadn’t heard much beyond that statement in Draco’s diatribe. The anger in Lucius’ black eyes faded to a deviant glimmer.

 

“That’s right.” Draco grinned and reached toward Harry, letting the back of his knuckles brush across the boy’s face. “Three years.”

 

“We’ve got the Potter-boy for three solid years?” Lucius licked his lips and turned his eyes back toward Harry, who was struggling to keep on his toes and away from Lucius’ choking grasp. Lucius looked like he couldn’t decide what sort of abuse he wanted to inflict first.

 

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to discuss, regarding the Greengrass family?” Draco prompted, eyeing Harry’s look of terror for but a moment, before regarding his father solemnly. “We’ve got three years with Potter…how long before Amadeus withdraws his consent for Astoria?”

 

“Ah, yes…that…” Lucius drew his hand away from Harry’s neck. The slave dropped to the floor, gasping for breath. “Kiss my boots while you’re down there, Potter.”

 

Harry’s eyes flickered to Draco, who gave a shallow nod. He summoned all of his courage and stuffed his pride aside, and lowered his face to the boots of the man he despised most of any other living person in the world. Harry would rather have kissed Uncle Vernon’s shoes or maybe even licked Dudley’s bare toes before touching his lips to Lucius Malfoy’s leather boots... He tried not to scowl while he was down there.

 

Lucius moved away, the toe of his boots clipping Harry in the jaw as he did so. “Let us retire to the drawing room then, Draco. Bring your slave. And did you forget? Chattel don’t have the liberty of clothing in this house.” With a flick of his wand, Harry’s clothes were banished, and he suffered the humility of being naked and vulnerable in front of a Malfoy once more. He summoned his cane and perfunctorily twisted his wand back into the top end before leading them to the end of the corridor. The thick rug was already burning Harry’s palms and knees. 

 

“Hmmm…” Lucius pondered.

Harry could feel the man’s eyes on him, and felt his flush burn down his neck and  
chest.

 

“You’re not spoiling him, are you?” Lucius held the door open for Draco and eyed  
Harry’s bottom as he crawled past.

 

“Of course not.” Draco yanked his hand back, which hand been listing toward Harry’s hair, wanting to tangle themselves comfortingly in Harry’s dark locks. Instead, he pretended to scowl. “You know Potter, resilient as always.”

 

“That can be remedied…” Lucius offered his cane to Draco with a dark smile, then nodded toward Harry, indicating what the cane was to be used for.

 

Draco waved the cane away with a shake of his head.

 

Lucius lifted a questioning brow. “You’re not going soft, son, are you? Since when have you ever not wanted to beat the Potter-child within an inch of his life? That Zabini isn’t having an influence on you, is he? I never did care for the way his parent’s carried on with their household slaves…treat them more like servants…”

 

Draco swallowed thickly, then shook his head. “No, no. Of course not.” He crossed to a leather chair and lowered himself into it, snapping his fingers quickly for Harry to come to his side. “It’s just that I…thought we were going to talk about Amadeus…and you know me, I don’t like to mix business and pleasure…”

 

Lucius frowned and made his way to the chair opposite Draco. “Yes, hmm, well…Amadeus first, and then I want to hear how you came across young Potter here…a fortuitous find indeed.”

 

Draco forced a smile. “Indeed.”


	23. Chapter 23

Lucius looked dubiously at his son. “Tell me again how you’re certain he’s not a ministry spy?” After finding out that Harry had willingly signed a three-year contract and hadn’t been kidnapped, he’d become incredibly suspicious. Since the fall of the Dark Lord, Lucius had amassed a number of conspiracy theories and had become increasingly distrustful of the majority of society.

”He’s not.” Draco sighed. “You think they would let their Golden Boy accrue the kind of abuse I’ve inflicted on him? For what purpose?”

“But you’re not arguing the fact that it was widely announced in the press that he would be attending the Auror training program, no? Do you find it mere coincidence that shortly after he would have graduated, you come along on an annual Malfoy-slave run?” Lucius rested his chin in his palm and eyed Harry thoughtfully.

Draco drummed his fingers on the side table. “How could he be trained at Viteazul’s and complete the Auror program at the same time? I’ve got his papers, signed and dated, like all the other slave’s papers have been, since before grandfather likely even started frequenting the place. Their program doesn’t change, they’re meticulous. Even you said that. It’s why we give them our business…”

Lucius frowned. “Their standards are clearly slipping.” 

“Why?” Draco countered, feeling more than annoyed. “Because they took on Harry?”

“Harry?” Lucius’ slender eyebrows raised together. 

“Harry. Potter.” He fluttered his hand. “What difference does it make what I call him? The fact of the matter is…” He risked a look downward, at Harry, who was sitting perfectly still on his heels at Draco’s feet, his expression neutral although it couldn’t be pleasant at all to be discussed as if he weren’t there…”The fact of the matter is that he’s a slave. He’s my slave, and he comes when I call him.”

Lucius snorted. “And you think that’s all there is to having a good slave? Where have you been living for the last twenty years?”

“But you have moved passed the asinine idea that he’s a ministry spy then?” Draco rolled his eyes.

“I’m not certain.” Lucius mused. 

”He’s not a sodding spy! I know, because he likes this too much.” Draco made the mistake of confiding, grabbing a handful of Harry’s hair and yanking it hard, causing the boy’s head to list toward his lap. Harry gasped and stifled a moan. 

”Likes what?” Lucius’s head came up out of his hand and he cocked his head at Harry with renewed interest. “The pain, or the humiliation of it?”  
Draco swallowed and nodded. “Both.” His response was quiet, he hadn’t meant to tell his father, of all people.  
Lucius grinned devilishly. He pressed himself to his feet and went around a nearby desk, pulling open one of the top drawers. He withdrew a wide, flat paddle, and handed it to his son with a single, insistent nod. “Show me.”

 

Harry was still sniffling when Draco opened the door to his own bedroom suite and gestured him inside. He gave a final look over his shoulder, and satisfied that Lucius wasn’t following, pushed the door shut. He flicked his wand angrily at the knob. It bolted with an audible click, and then he waved a perfunctory silencing charm before throwing his wand aside crossly. He didn’t bother watching to see where it landed.  
It’s just Potter, it’s just Potter Draco kept telling himself while rubbing his face and pressing his fingers into his eye sockets. It didn’t matter that he had paddled his slave until he cried. It didn’t matter that Potter submitted to it all without argument, and with only a single exchanged glance that let on how betrayed he really felt by his own Master. It didn’t matter, because he was only Potter, a slave, a nothing….

But the reality was, it wasn’t just ‘Potter’; now it had become Harry, and Draco had something more invested. Draco couldn’t tell whom he was angrier with, his father, or himself. He hadn’t pushed his slave so far in weeks, and hadn’t intended to again. But with his father pressing and goading, there wasn’t much he felt could do, other than go along with it. He moved into the room and perched on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be the foot of his neatly made and unused bed. He gestured toward Harry, who was kneeling on the floor, his reddened arse hovering inches over his heels, as though he wanted to sit, but couldn’t. “Harry.” He said, throat tight and voice strained. “Come here.”  
When Harry reached him, Draco pulled him closer between his knees and tilted his face up. He wiped the wetness away with his fingers and smeared it on the bedspread. He wiped over and over until Harry’s face was dry, though new tears threatened to spill. “Are you alright?” He kissed Harry’s forehead because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Harry nodded, but Draco wasn’t convinced. He kissed both of Harry’s downturned lashes in turn, and a tear welled from each and rolled down his cheek.

“Harry…” Draco whispered and thumbed the wetness away again. ‘I didn’t mean to be so hard on you…I didn’t want to do it. I’m Sorry. The words died before they left his lips. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Draco was supposed to be strong, dominant, and unapologetic. Harry was supposed to be subordinate, accepting, and non-questioning. And it seemed that Harry was playing his part, so what the hell was wrong with Draco?

Harry snuffled and sighed. “Master…” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.

Draco pulled Harry’s face against his abdomen and pet his hair, rocking slightly. He felt defeated by the way he’d caved to his father. After all, he was an adult now, with his own slave to manage in his own way. But, in his father’s house, and with his expectations, what choice did he have? Draco felt a small amount of redemption when Harry finally wrapped his arms back around him, hugging him tightly. But then, it reminded him too much of the scene in the Italian Groomer’s. And again, he’d failed his responsibilities to his slave. Harry Potter or no…what was the difference?  
Draco had been home for less than three hours and already, he felt weary and worn. “Come on,” Draco sighed. “Let’s get in the bath, and then we’ll go to bed.”

 

“Can’t help but notice that you kept Potter in your room with you last night,” Lucius observed coolly while lifting a forkful of eggs nearer his mouth. “I did think we broke you of that habit when you were in your sixth year.” He lowered the fork back down to the plate and looked pointedly at his son. “Slaves are not bedmates, Draco.”

”Force of habit.” Draco replied not meeting his father’s gaze. “In my travels, there wasn’t any place with separate quarters. “And he slept at the foot of the bed. I rather think of him as a pet.” At that, he lifted a crisp length of bacon from his plate and offered it to Harry, who was perched dutifully at his feet.

Narcissa watched disdainfully, although Lucius seemed somewhat amused. 

”Nevertheless,” Lucius chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “You ought to leave him with the others. I don’t find him as well trained as you insist, and he could stand to learn from the other boys.”

Draco grunted noncommittally and offered Harry a small palmful of red grapes. 

”What time is your appointment with Amadeus, dear?” Narcissa looked down her thin nose at Harry once more, sniffed, and turned her attention to her teacup.

”Early this afternoon,” Draco replied, finally looking over at his father, then to his mother before back at his plate.

”Well,” Narcissa sipped pristinely from her cup. “Certainly you’ll leave him downstairs then, won’t you? He won’t serve any purpose being shut up in your room alone. And Salazar knows what kind of troubles he could get into up there without supervision.”

”Not having any parties this afternoon, are you mother?” Draco countered suspiciously.

Narcissa lowered her cup to the saucer with a thin smile. “Of course not my dear. It would be very gauche to host two parties in the same week, let alone back to back. Why do you ask?”

Draco began to push his food around on his plate listlessly. Finally, he settled his fork down with a clatter and eyes both of his parents at once. “I don’t want him used for any tea parties or as entertainment for your friends. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone about him at all. I’ve spent enough time thinking on it to realize that if word gets out that I’ve…well, about Harry’s position, it won’t look well for us, given our…recent past history. There’s likely to be an investigation, and it won’t portray our family in a good light.”

”How…thoughtful of you to consider your family appearances for once, Draco.” Lucius replied coldly. “After your most recent absenteeism, I’d have thought you didn’t care knut for keeping our family within social graces.”

”I already apologized for that, Father.” Draco responded through clenched teeth. “I thought I made it clear that I hadn’t realized this whole engagement process was going to move along so swiftly. After all, Astoria hasn’t even finished her education yet.”

”That may be so,” Lucius held out his glass to be refilled by the naked blonde slave standing behind him. “However, I thought I made it quite clear that since Amadeus is a man of tradition, he will accept no less than two years of engagement for his youngest daughter, and you’ll be going on twenty-three before we can file your marriage papers for approval by the ministry, and so on. I was a father, already, at twenty-three, and you have similar obligations to fulfill before you even think of coming in to the remainder of your inheritance.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to meet his father’s, and he deliberately broke apart a treacle tart and fed a portion of it to Harry. “I’m old enough now to manage my own accounts in their entirety. I hardly think that letting the money sit around, rotting in a vault, is going to do me any good, when I could be investing it to properly take care of my future family.”

Lucius sneered across the table. “And what investments, pray tell, did you make this summer? From what I’ve seen, the only ‘deposits’ you’ve made have been your-”

”Lucius!” Narcissa interrupted before blotting her mouth with her napkin. 

Lucius gave a short nod to his wife, and then threw his linen onto his plate before scraping his chair back. Everyone at the table rose promptly. “I trust you to be on time and on your very best behavior with Amadeus this afternoon and henceforth. I have already invested far too much of my own time and breath on your behalf, quelling rumors and tales which seem to crop up far too quickly for my tastes, following every social event you attend unchaperoned by your mother and I. You will ask for Astoria’s hand, and the two of you will negotiate a future visit with her. Do not fail to properly represent our family, now that your sudden interest in its posterity has peaked.”

”As you said before, father. And as I have already agreed; you have my word, I will not disappoint you.” Draco’s gaze held Lucius’, until finally, Lucius grunted and walked away from the table. Draco and Narcissa settled back into their chairs, and Draco resumed pushing food about his plate until it was cold.

“More tea, dear?” Draco’s mother gestured toward the pot, and the slave behind her chair stepped forward.

Draco shook his head. “No, thank you.” He took his entire plate and set it on the floor in front of Harry, who eyed him a moment before laying his head against his thigh. “Satisfied, are we?” Draco addressed him, and Harry nodded. “I do believe I am quite finished, then.” He placed his linen on the table and moved to stand.

Narcissa blotted her mouth once more, then folded her napkin neatly over her plate. She turned her face up to Draco, who crossed behind her chair and pulled it out for her, then offered her a hand to stand. She took it, then turned to face him and laid a hand fondly on his cheek. “My darling.” She murmured to herself. “All grown up and seeking a wife of his own…Perhaps, you’ll even give me a granddaughter to snuggle and play dress-up with…”

Draco touched her hand lightly, drawing it down between his own. He squeezed it briefly and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He certainly didn’t feel encouraged by the prospect of marriage and children.

”Salazar knows, I am getting quite tired of dressing up your father’s slaves, and no doubt he’s not been fond of it either, although, he has been quite tolerant.”

Draco’s eyes closed and he swallowed. Yet another image of his mother he did not want swimming around in his brain all afternoon.  
”I do hope you’ll be quite tolerant, and indulgent even, with your own wife, Draco. I haven’t met her yet, but I’ve heard Astoria is a very lovely young lady…”

”I’m certain…” Draco said, forcing another smile. If he didn’t get out of the dining room, and soon, he feared he might crack his teeth. He snapped his fingers for Harry’s attention. “Come along….” He smiled at his mother. “Would you excuse me? I never did get to unpacking last night.”  
”Of course, dear.” Narcissa smiled at him. 

 

“Draco Malfoy for Mister Greengrass,” Draco found himself announcing to the slender and feminine-looking young Asian girl that answered the door of the Greengrass residence. As he stood in the Parlor, he thought back on what Harry had said to him sometime after breakfast, as he sat in the armchair in his room, looking silently and forlornly out the window.

”You don’t want to marry Astoria?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco huffed.

“So don’t do it then.” Harry suggested softly. 

Draco snorted. “As if it’s that easy…” Draco fell quiet for another long moment, then leaned forward, eyeing Harry. “Who gave you permission to speak, anyway?”

Harry’s face colored slightly and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “No one. My apologies, Master. You looked upset. I-I was just trying to…”

“Stop talking, Potter.” In that moment, Draco thought that maybe his father was right. Harry was still lacking training. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get over here and put your mouth to the only real use I have for it…” 

”Mister Malfoy?” A low pitched voice caught Draco by surprise, and he turned, a flush on his cheeks.

“Please, call me Draco. You must be Mister Greengrass.” He offered his hand to the shorter, balding and plump gentleman who bore little resemblance to the willowy and blonde-haired daughters he presumed to have spawned.

Amadeus Greengrass nodded and didn’t correct Draco’s usage of his name. “Nice to finally meet you.” He pumped Draco’s hand twice. “I was beginning to think that you were a figment of your father’s imagination.”

”My sincerest apologies, Sir.” Draco found himself putting on the charm with practiced ease, despite the fact that his chest felt as though an entire flock of thestrals had landed on it.

 

By the time Draco returned to The Manor, he had a splitting headache. The deal was done, and his courtship with Astoria was eminent. Although she had already returned to Hogwarts to begin her final year, they had agreed that a proper first meeting should take place publically. And so, Draco was to meet her in Hogsmeade on the next scheduled school outing. He would take her to lunch, and then they would stroll the township together, shopping and getting to know one another…

He had one foot on the staircase when his father came around the corner. He stopped and eyed Draco, then tucked The Daily Prophet under one armpit as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?”

Draco waved his hand at him dismissively. “It’s done. All’s well, then, yeah? Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to have a tonic and a lay down. Tell mother I’m not feeling up to dinner.”

”Your behavior is rather childish, don’t you think?” Lucius chastised with a scowl.

Draco resisted the urge to flip him the V-sign. “What do you care? You’ve gotten what you wanted…” He ascended several more steps and stopped when his father’s voice sounded up the stairwell.

”Are you implying that you don’t want to marry the Greengrass girl?” 

“Doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” Draco had nearly reached the top of the staircase by then.

Lucius’ footsteps were heavy on the wooden stairs. “Why didn’t you say so?” 

Draco turned with a sigh. “Would it have mattered, Father? What or who I wanted?”

”Who did you want?” Lucius questioned lowly. 

Draco scowled. “No one. That’s the point, and that’s why it doesn’t matter. So if you’ll excuse me…” Draco turned his back on his father and moved down the hallway to his bedroom, where his first priority was self-medication. He dosed himself with a headache potion, followed by two hefty swigs of firewhiskey from the nearly-empty bottle he found stashed in a nightstand drawer. Following that, he threw himself, fully clothed, on top of his mattress and drew the bed-side curtains half shut. With Harry in the slave’s quarters, he didn’t have much to worry about, and was free to spend the rest of the evening wallowing in self-pity. He found the bottom of the bottle before he found sleep, and even there, he wasn’t safe from the torments of subconsciousness.


	24. Chapter 24

If there was anything Draco pulled out all the stops on and did whole-heartedly, it was sulk. As the once-spoiled, only child of two wealthy and doting parents, he had been allowed this indulgence as a child, and it was a frank reaction to overwhelming responsibility that he hadn’t managed to outgrow.

By the time he came to the full realization that it had been nearly three days since he had seen Harry, Draco’s heart was thumping against his rib cage. His feet carried him down the stairs faster than he’d ever descended them in his life. He breezed past Narcissa in the parlor, who caught him by the elbow, spinning him around.

”Draco, my love, wherever are you going?” 

”Slave quarters.” Draco breathed. 

Narcissa frowned. “Whatever for? Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll have a cup of tea, and I’ll summon one of the boys for you…” She reached for a wide tassled rope, that when pulled, chimed in the slave quarters to announce that a slave was needed. There was one in each room, and the sound for each was different, notifying which room the slave was to report to.

A thousand thoughts raced through Draco’s mind at once, and he realized he’d fallen for his Mother’s distractive ploys far too many times in the last three days for his own good. He jerked his arm away from her and took a hesitant step backward. “No.” He said firmly. As her lips pressed into a thin line, he turned on his heel and continued his mission.

Though the rest of the house was rather ornate and cozy, the slave quarters were dismal and reminded Draco of the dungeon corridors that led to the Slytherin dormitory. In his entire life, he had only set foot here a handful of times. The cold, bleakness of the bare stone walls was disheartening. There were several small rooms, consisting of a small food preparation area, a communal bathroom, and a few communal sleeping areas.

”Harry?” Draco called hesitantly, listening to his voice echo off the walls. As a dark, wiry young man moved to slip past him, Draco grabbed him by the arm. “Harry.” He said again more firmly. When the boy stared at him dumbly, he gave him a brief shake. “Where is Harry?”  
The boy was still quiet, and averted his eyes. 

Draco scowled. “Harry Potter. The new one, came three days ago or so. Shorter than you, dark hair. Green eyes. Has the scar.” He pointed to his own forehead for emphasis. “Have you seen him?”

The boy’s eyes flickered with recognition, and he glanced at Draco, then away again, biting his lip.

”Answer me!” Draco shook him again. 

”Alright, yes, I’ve seen him!” 

”Where is he, then?” Draco demanded, but once more, there was no response. “What is your sodding problem? I’m your Master, and I’m asking you a question, so you bloody well answer me!” He pushed the boy backward against the wall and took a firm hold of his neck, forcing his head up.

The young man looked frightened and unsure of himself. “My loyalty lies with your father. He was sure to remind us all of that a few days ago.   
Said if you came looking for Harry, we weren’t to answer…”

Draco could feel his blood coursing through the veins in his neck and his face growing hot. An outburst of epic proportions was building inside of him. He ground his teeth together to keep himself from exploding on the poor slave who was only trying to appease his master. “You’re going to get my broomstick in your arse in a minute if you don’t tell me where my father has taken MY slave!”

”Y-yours?” he stammered. “Please, Master Draco, I didn’t know! B-b-but your father!”

Draco growled as his frustration mounted. He had to stop his racing mind and think a moment. Finally, he exhaled. “If you weren’t going to tell me where my father took Harry, where would you say he definitely hadn’t taken him?”

The slave’s eyes darted sideways for a moment, and then back at Draco. “I-“ he dropped the level of his voice to a low whisper. “I definitely wouldn’t tell you that they were in the gardens, Master Draco.”

”Which one?” Draco questioned, finally releasing the boy from his grasp. 

The slave scrambled backward several paces. “I don’t know anything more, please don’t ask me!”

 

Draco stalked through the North Garden where his mother had a fondness for throwing parties, and found the grounds empty. He was nearing the Eastern Gardens, which had the high hedges that he, himself, had used more than once when he was looking for privacy with a slave. He was just beginning to wonder why he hadn’t started there, when a strangled and pained cry pierced the air.

“Fuck.” He swore lowly to himself, and quickened his pace. He had only taken a few lengthy strides when he heard it again, and he broke into a jog. As he came around the corner of the hedge, he could see his father, feet planted in a wide stance and wand pointed purposefully in his outstretched hand. As he came fully around, he could see Harry, writhing painfully on the ground, a few meters away.

Draco closed the distance between them, and as he yanked his father’s wand from his hand, felt a prickle of dark magic jolt through him. He threw the length of elm away from them both. Before he could get his mouth to form words and sentences, Lucius turned toward him.

”And just what, pray tell, do you think you are doing, boy?” His expression was one mixed of anger and amusement. His tone was a parental one that had a way of making Draco freeze on the spot.

But this time he paused only a second. “What do you think you are doing with my slave?”

Lucius spread his fingers and stated pragmatically, “I believe I am doing what you should have a month ago…I am giving that boy a dose of humility. He is a disrespectful little cur, and I will not tolerate such an attitude from anyone is his position. I especially will not tolerate it from a willful snip of a slave, who thinks he doesn’t have to conform to the rules, simply because he is Harry Potter!”

Draco’s eyes strayed toward Harry, who had curled into a tight ball and was groaning lowly. He looked back to his father with a scowl. “What did you do?”

”Would you like a demonstration?” He Accio’d his wand and began to aim it again.

”No!” Draco screamed, pulling his father’s arm down. He stepped between his father and Harry, folding his arms across his chest.

Lucius looked surprised, and then bored. “Well, if you had bothered to break his spirit in the first place, I wouldn’t have felt compelled to train him myself.”

”I don’t want him broken and brainless!” Draco insisted. “There’s no satisfaction in that. I like him the way he is; that he consciously bends himself to my will, every time. Each time he submits to me, I win. ”

Lucius snorted. “Is that what this is about, for you? Ticking off notches on your Potter-Victory belt? And have you matched him yet, for the number of times he wiped the pitch with you in quidditch?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he bit back to retort on his tongue. He took several steps backward toward Harry. “I don’t want you to ever lay a hand on my slave again. I paid for him, and he’s mine, and I’m telling you to stay away.”

”Paid?” Lucius chuckled. “And with who’s money? Everything in your account came from somewhere, and it isn’t as if you’ve spent an honest day working in your lifetime.”

Draco scowled. “It doesn’t matter. My name is on the papers. He doesn’t owe you anything…” his final step had his heel butting up against Harry’s curled arms, and he dropped to his knees in the grass.

”One more, for good measure,” Lucius murmured, carefully aiming his wand past his son. “Crucio!” He sneered.  
Harry jerked and rolled on the ground, howling. 

”Expeliarmus!” Draco shouted, thrusting his wand toward his father. 

The wand blew away several yards, but Lucius only laughed. “Well, well…” He drawled. “It seems as though you have been spending too much time with Potter after all. Not even man enough to cast a proper hex?” He tsk-tsked and shook his head.

Draco’s wand remained pointed toward his father, albeit in a trembling hand. He set his jaw and gripped with more resolve, but still, he found it difficult to spell the words against his own father.

”Here, let me make it easier for you…” Lucius summoned his wand again and took several steps forward, pointing the length of elm directly at his son’s face. “You want to do it, I can see it in your eyes. Come on, Draco!”

Historically, Draco had only withstood so much goading and pressure before he caved. His mind raced, mentally categorizing all the hexes he knew, and grasping for one that might be adult enough to cast on his father without causing him to laugh at him again, but minor enough that it’s effects wouldn’t cause long-term damage. He had just changed the angle of his wand, about to flick it with intent when the barest touch grazed the top of the hand he had on the ground behind him for balance. Harry…

Draco glowered one last time at his father, and in the same instant, lowered his wand. “You’re not worth it.” He grumbled, turning his attention to Harry. He tucked his wand in his sleeve and reached for his slave, who was still clearly experiencing the ghost-traces of pain, flickering across his nerve endings.  
Lucius grabbed Draco by the arm and jerked him up to eye-level. “It’s a pity,” He sneered. “That all my time and efforts with you have been   
thoroughly wasted. It is my sincerest hope that Astoria has more spine than you have, lest my grandchild and future heir of the Malfoy-name be an even greater weakling than it’s father…” He released Draco with a shove. “Have your Potter-boy then. And keep him out of the slave quarters. I don’t want him infecting my boys with his attitude.”

”No probl-” Draco started to quip. He tripped over Harry’s prone body and landed hard on his arse and elbows.  
Lucius took one last sneering look at the two boys and turned on his heel, his hair flying out behind him, He snatched up his cane from where it was leaning against the hedge, and took his leave.

Draco glared after his father until he was out of sight. Then Harry moaned and shifted beneath him, and he scrambled off his slave, wincing. He flexed one arm, but found it was only bruised. He crawled back to Harry and turned him by one shoulder until he was flat on his back. “Harry?” He questioned. “You alright?”

Harry took one long breath of air, and exhaled slowly, nodding his head slightly.

”You sodding liar.” Draco accused softly. “Can you sit?” He slipped an arm behind him and helped to prop him up.

Harry ground his teeth together and groaned in pain. He felt Draco’s fingers smooth over a few areas on his back, and burning pain rippled through him again, causing him to hiss.

”I’ll bloody kill him…” Draco murmured. “He caned you?” Even as Harry was nodding, Draco continued. “When?”

”Y-yesterday, M-master.”   
Draco scowled. “I’m going to kill him with my own two hands…Can you stand?” He climbed to his feet and helped Harry up, supporting the majority of his weight.

 

Draco apparated them both directly into his room, where he locked and heavily warded the doors. He laid Harry down on his bed, and then disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a wet cloth and a pot of salve. He cleaned Harry’s back very carefully, wincing every time Harry sucked in a breath. There were several, overlapping wide stripes on Harry’s back and thighs, some of which had split open and were caked with flecks of dirt and grass, from lying on the ground. As he cleaned them, they began to weep a clear fluid. When he was finished with that, he opened the salve and whiffed it’s contents. “Should still be good,” He murmured to himself, and began to dab and rub the thick and medicinal smelling ointment onto Harry’s wounds.

Harry hissed and flinched away from Draco’s touch. “Burns,” He complained into the coverlet.

”It’s going to get infected if I don’t.” Draco said. He ground his teeth together angrily. “It’s going to scar if I don’t…and then every time I look at it, I’ll think of him.” He daubed the salve down a particularly nasty looking stripe on Harry’s left buttocks. Harry squirmed and groaned, burying his face in the fabric below him.

When Draco was finished, he wrapped Harry from chest to mid-thigh in white medi-wizard bandages, and then went to wash his hands again. He was gone for sometime, and when he returned, his face was paler than usual. He had a difficult time meeting Harry’s eyes. “Harry…” He said softly, slowly.

Harry looked at him from under heavy lids. The ointment had a slight sedative side-effect, and with practically a third of his body covered, it was setting in quickly.

”I-I’m,” Salazar, why was it so difficult to say? Perhaps because Draco had only uttered the words a handful of times in his entire lifetime, and perhaps because out of the handful of times he’d said them, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d truly meant them. “I’m sorry, Harry.” He finally forced out.

Harry blinked at him. 

”I shouldn’t have left you down there. I didn’t know he would do that. I mean I had an idea, but I didn’t really know… I didn’t realize it had been so long. You must hate me….I mean, likely you already hated me. But really now, it must be loathing.” Draco started to babble.

”I..don’t hate you.” Harry said with some effort. Though his wounds were numb, his body was sore and aching, and now with the medication, his tongue felt thick.

Draco looked directly at Harry. “You don’t?” He said this with some surprise. “Pity me do you, then?” He was used to having people mask their feelings toward him.

”Not that either.” Harry managed. He blinked several times and tried not to yawn. He rolled onto his side so he could better look at his master. “Your father is a bit of a twat, though.” Apparently, another side-effect of the aging ointment was that it lowered his inhibitions.

A giggle bubbled up and out of Draco before he could contain it. He looked once more over his bandaged and sleepy slave, and came nearer, ducking closer to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek. “You’re really alright then?”

”Y-yes” Harry yawned. His eyes were closed. The last thing he felt before sleep claimed him was the warm press of Draco’s lips against his own.


	25. Chapter 25

Harry felt a hand brush across his forehead, and when his fringe fell back into place, it tickled a bit. He rolled his head away from the touch and frowned. He wanted to stay wherever it was that he was; warm, soft, and drifting. 

“Harry…” A familiar voice coaxed him. “Come on, now. Wake up and have something to eat. You’ve been asleep for hours.” It was his Master’s voice, and he should obey it. He struggled to open his eyes, but they felt heavy and weighted. “Harry…” 

When the hand came again on the side of his face, he turned into it, grunted, and really tried to open his eyes. His lids slitted open, fluttered, and crashed back together. “Mmmph,” he tried to explain himself, and grabbed for the warm hand that had lifted away from his face. Then, he groaned when a wave of aching pain washed over him. No, it was better to lay still. 

“Sweet fucking Merlin,” Harry could picture the scowl that would likely be on his Master’s face as he said it. “I’ve bloody over-dosed him…” Harry felt himself rolled flat on his back, and then the mattress bouncing as Draco scrambled onto it. Then, there was the weight of his body settling over Harry’s hips and thighs.

Draco climbed half-on-top of Harry and wedged his arms under his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position. Harry’s head lolled on his neck, and he gave a frustrated groan before trying to support himself. 

“Stop playing now, Harry. Wake-up!” Draco commanded. 

“…Trying…” Harry murmured. 

“Fuck.” Draco swore and laid Harry back down. He leapt off the bed and tore into the bathroom, where he set the bath tub to filling with water. When he returned, he used his wand to cut the white bandages encasing Harry’s torso away, and then he picked his slave up in his arms, staggering only slightly under his weight. “Sorry for this, Harry. It’s going to be cold,” he mumbled a warning. 

“Wha-?” Harry’s movements were already becoming more pronounced, and they entered the bathroom where the sound of water running was much more audible. “No, no!” Harry began to process the information and flail. “M’up…don’t!” 

But Draco was already settling Harry into four inches of icy water. 

Harry squealed and his body seemed to convulse. Then, he propelled himself up and over the side of the tub and lay shivering, gasping, and swearing on the floor. Draco had taken several hasty steps away to avoid the backsplash, and now eyed him with confusion. “Harry….what the hell? ” 

“Cold.” Harry said. It took him a moment, and wincing, he pushed himself into a sitting position, where he dug his knuckles into his eyes and rubbed his face. His mouth was dry and felt as though it were stuffed with cotton. “V’always had a…uh, bad, um,” The words were there in his head, but there was a disconnect somewhere before they reached his mouth. “Bad reaction to….” He wiped his face again, and waved his hand toward the bathroom door. 

Draco looked at him blankly. 

Harry jerked a thumb toward his own back and then pointed to the cabinet behind Draco. He snapped his fingers several times. “To anesthesia!” He finally worked out. “Makes me sleepy.” 

“No shite!” Draco replied crassly. 

“Really sleepy.” Harry qualified. He shivered, and then yawned, and his eyes started to fall shut again. 

“No you don’t,” Draco said, waving his wand at the tub to make it drain. Then he flicked it toward his shower, and there was a hiss of steam before hot water started to jet out. He tucked his wand in the back of his pants and then bent to gather Harry up again. “Come on, stand up.” He propped Harry inside the shower stall and shoveled his own hair away from his face with one hand while holding onto his slave with the other. “Got to get that shite off of you, then. Thought I bloody killed you somehow…” 

After a few minutes of wrestling with propping Harry up, and trying to soap him up, he realized he was half-soaked, and Harry was not any freer or the gunky ointment on his back. “Here, put your arms up, would you?” He moved Harry’s arms to the wall in front of him then took two steps back from the shower, nearly slipping himself, in a puddle of water on the floor. He swore and jerked his shirt up and over his head, then loosed his belt and let his pants drop. He sat on the toilet seat to properly pull off his socks, and then, fully nude, joined Harry in the shower. The steam inside smelled like an odd combination of eucalyptus and cinnamon, and was rather nauseating. He had to get that old ointment off of Harry, and fast. 

Harry hummed and leaned into Draco’s touch, though his hands remained on the wall where they had been placed. The soapy massage he was being given caused his muscles to bunch and ache, but it was no worse than how he’d ever felt after spending seven or eight hours on the quidditch pitch after a Saturday practice. 

Draco had to wash and rinse Harry’s back three times before the residue from the ointment was fully gone. Each time, he watched the suds slip down Harry’s spine and pool in the hollow just before the curve of his arse, and then make a slow descent along the crack that divided the two rounded swells of flesh. Fuck, but it was making him hard…He shouldn’t want Harry like this when it was doubly his fault he’d been beaten so badly, and then had gone ahead and administered outdated wound-salve, not even thinking of the side effects, or knowing that Harry was practically allergic. But after all, he was only a wizard, and he had carnal needs like anyone else, and there Harry was, all sudsed up and glistening, leaning into his touch and making soft sounds, practically begging to be taken… 

Draco soaped his hands again, this time sliding them up Harry’s sides, over his chest, and down his abdomen. His fingers curled over Harry’s erection, and he pumped with slow deliberation, feeling more confident in his actions now that he knew he wasn’t just take, take, taking from Harry. 

Harry moaned into the space between his forearms and tilted his pelvis back, then forward, pushing his length through Draco’s fingers. Draco continued to languidly stroke him with one hand, and let the other trail back around, delving into the crease of his buttocks. Harry ceased his shallow thrusting in favor of pressing back against the soap-slicked digits that probed inside him. His breath hitched when they found his sweet spot, and he groaned audibly. 

“Awake now, are we?” Draco mouthed his earlobe. “

Yes, yes, yes!” Harry panted, now that his master was rubbing his fingers back and forth, pressing hard against that same spot inside of him. “Fff—“ He started to swear, and then bit his lip. “Master, please!?” 

After all he’d put his slave through, Draco decided he owed it to him to honor this one request. He slid his hand up one last time before stilling it, just before the crown of Harry’s cock, and his fingers, buried deep inside him came to a sudden halt. Aside from the spray of the shower head, he could hear both of their breaths, Harry’s fast and hard, his own deep and slow, purposefully controlled. “Yes?” 

Harry started to speak, and Draco lowered his head, sucking the nearest patch of skin on Harry’s shoulder into his mouth. 

“I—Ah! …Oh,” Harry sighed and tucked his face into the crook of his arm, the rest of his response muffled. 

Draco released Harry’s prick and tugged down the offending arm, freeing Harry’s mouth. “Sorry, Pet. What was that?”   
Harry flushed a deeper shade of red. 

This had gone on long enough. “Do you want me to—“ Suddenly, the phrasing seemed wrong. Draco stopped, withdrew his fingers from Harry’s warm tunnel, and started again. “Do you want me?” 

“Yes!” Harry affirmed, pushing his arse back against Draco. He felt his Master’s shaft bump into him, and he ground against it.   
“I…I mean,” Draco stammered. His heart was suddenly hammering in his chest. “You can say ‘no’, this time…” Where in Merlin’s great beard had that come from? 

“Master, please!” Harry whined. “Please? Please…fuck me.” 

Draco sucked in a breath and held it for a moment. “Well,” He started, controlling his voice again as he reached for the bar of soap to slick himself with. “If that’s what you really want.” He parted Harry’s cheeks and lined up before slowly pushing in. Both of them groaned, and Harry leaned his weight back onto his forearms against the shower wall. 

This time, Draco didn’t make his slave beg for release, and he let Harry finish first, though his own orgasm came only moments later. They rested together, for a brief moment, and Draco lowered his head to Harry’s shoulders again. He pressed a kiss there, and when he lifted his head, only just noticed the thick red stripe that marred pale flesh there. He winced and turned his cheek against it, so he didn’t have to see it.   
“Harry…” His throat felt thick again. “Harry, I’m sorry…” 

Wordlessly, Harry turned his back to the shower wall and molded himself against Draco’s torso, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. Draco’s arms tightened around Harry’s back, then loosened. “Did I--?” 

Before he could finish his sentence, Harry snuggled more closely against him and sighed. Draco took his cue and curled his arms as they were before, and pulled the both of them back into the spray. 

“Hmmmm….” He sighed after some time. “Definitely food now, and then sleep. You think?” 

When Harry didn’t answer, he craned his neck to see his face. The slave was already dozing in his arms again. 

“Idiot Gryffindor.” Draco whispered to himself almost fondly before juggling the man in his arms in order to turn off the water. “Come on, Harry...wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who think Harry's reaction was over the top, this is almost exactly what happens to me when I take over-the-counter antihistamines or percocet


	26. Chapter 26

After spending two weeks at The Manor, and Draco was certain that he’d never been more miserable in his life...

The morning after he’d rescued Harry from Lucius’ abuse, he’d woken and rung the slave bell for his morning tea. What he’d found just outside the door instead was a silver tray with a hand-written note from his mum, informing him that there would be no more tray service to his room and that he was expected to show his face at the table like a respectable adult.

He’d pulled himself together, woken his still-groggy slave, and readied the both of them for presentation at the breakfast table. Harry had seemed normal enough, until they’d come across Lucius in the upstairs hallway, at which point Harry had nearly fallen down the stairs in a sudden effort to drop to his knees and hide behind Draco. A hasty Levicorpus on Draco’s behalf had saved him from going arse-over-teakettles down half a flight of mahogany, and in the meanwhile, his father managed to smile smugly and insinuate that he’d been the one to teach the ‘Potter-boy’ any respect he had, but that grace was a lost cause. 

At the breakfast table, Harry knelt so closely to Draco that he was practically under his chair, and with his head nearly in Draco’s lap. Again, Lucius had been the first to admonish Harry for acting like a beggar-dog and directed Draco to get his slave “in-line”. Draco had to fight his lip from curling upward and he lowered his hand to Harry’s neck, letting his father know that he liked things just the way they were.

Lucius was relentless in his criticisms of both Harry (whom he endlessly referred to as “The Potter-Boy”) and his own son (whom he was convinced was doing a right wonderful job of mismanaging his slave to the point of defect). It was clear that Harry was afraid of Lucius, despite the fact that Draco had not left him alone since discovering the two of them in the gardens. He often scrambled out of the way, or pressed himself against the wall, or hid his face in the shallow space between Draco’s shoulder blades were they to pass by one another in any close vicinity. He’d become rather withdrawn, wasn’t eating well at meal times, and although he minded Draco well enough at all times, it was easy enough to see that he wasn’t flourishing here the way he had in Italy.

Harry couldn’t help his reaction to Lucius Malfoy’s presence. It was true that he had always detested the man, although it would have been a stretch in the past to say he feared him. But after spending torturous hours with him over the span of three days, he couldn’t set aside the feelings of anxiety that rose in him whenever he caught sight of the man, or heard the thumping echo of his cane as it neared him. It was rather difficult to hold his body’s “flight-response” in check, knowing what kind of pain the man was capable of inflicting, and without remorse of any sort. He’d been at the wand’s end of jinxes, hexes, and dark curses not limited to the Cruciatus far too many times to count, and more than he cared to remember. He’d been caned, even, and although Draco had managed to whip up a healing salve that didn’t make him drowsy after it’s application, there was one stubborn welt on his buttocks that was responding rather slowly to treatment, and could not be Episkey’d for fear that it would turn into a soft tissue abscess.

Harry couldn’t find it in him to blame Draco, his Master, for any of it. It was true, it was his absence that had allowed Lucius access to him, but Draco seemed immensely remorseful for that. He’d apologized more than once for his indiscretion, and his recent actions spoke volumes. Draco’s hard edge had softened in a way that Harry hadn’t seen previously, and hadn’t known that he was capable of.

It was clear to Harry that his Master was under an inordinate amount of stress and he tried to be a comfort when they were in the safe-haven of his cluster of rooms on the second floor of The Manor. Anywhere else on the grounds, however, and Harry had all he could do to compose himself.

 

“Harry,” Draco said softly, smoothing the slave’s hair back from his face and sighing. He scooted his chair back away from his writing desk, having just sent off his personal owl for the second time that morning.

Harry looked up at his Master and frowned. Something was wrong. He could tell by the uneasy look in those slate-grey eyes, and the set of his jaw.

“I’m going to speak with Mother…if there is anyone in this house who will stand to reason, it’s her. I can’t take this any more…I feel like a prisoner in my own home…” Draco had begun to divulge more information about himself of late, almost conversationally, except that it was often like talking aloud in an empty room.

As Draco moved toward the door, Harry crawled beside him, doing his best impersonation of Spellotape. “You’ve got to stay here,” He said wistfully as he placed his hand on the doorknob.

Harry felt his anxiety level ratchet up several notches. All the blood drained from his face, and he made a short noise in the back of his throat, swallowing the ‘NO!’ that tried to wrench from him. He shook his head vigorously. He didn’t care if Draco was going to punish him for insolence, or if he looked at him piteously, as he so often did these last few days. 

Draco crouched and took his slave’s head between his hands, stilling the forceful side-to-side motion. “You are safe here,” he said, punctuating each word and locking eyes with him. “I promise.”

”Master, please…” Harry begged, and his eyes glistened wetly.

Draco swallowed and looked away a moment, but when he addressed Harry again, his voice was stern. “Stop it, Harry. I don’t like you like this, it’s not very becoming. What happened to that Gryffindor-bravery? You slayed The Dark Lord before your seventeenth birthday, when most other boys your age were still too scared to ask a girl out on a date. My father is a scary wizard, I’ll give you that. But he is only a wizard, and he’s not even here right now.” He stood up, and Harry latched on to his lower legs, pressing his face against the polished tops of Draco’s shoes. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes skyward, trying to collect himself and not lash out against his slave, who was clearly in the throes of an anxiety attack, which Draco likely exacerbated the effects of by not leaving his side for the last several days. He bent down and unlaced Harry’s arms from around his calves. “Really, grow a pair…I’ll be back in an hour, two at the most. Have a nap…rearrange my closet in order of season, fabrics, and colors…do calisthenics for all I care. But do stop acting like such a baby.” He dropped Harry’s arms, and they landed limply at his sides.

Draco frowned again, looking at the wounded expression on Harry’s face. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” He hooked his hands under Harry’s arms, lifting and pushing him back toward the edge of the bed, where he finally settled him. He moved closer to Harry, wedging himself between the slave’s knees and taking the back of his neck in hand as he moved his mouth against Harry’s ear. “Don’t you want to be good for me?” He can feel Harry’s posture shift immediately from a recalcitrant one to something more open, pressing, needy, wanting.

”Yes, Master.” Harry whispered into his chest, moving his hands up to slip around his waist.

Draco caught Harry’s wrists before they could move behind him, cross, and lock. He pressed forward, easily laying Harry flat against the mattress and splaying his arms out widely above his head. With their bodies pressed together so tightly, it was easy to feel Harry’s growing eagerness, trapped between both of their thighs. It was a relative distraction, but a brief one. Draco pushed himself up, pointing his finger at Harry to stay where he was. “Stay there, then. And don’t move a muscle while I’m gone…”

Harry blinked at him and made a low sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat. His chin lifted minutely as his Master palmed his cock for the briefest of moments before stepping away.

Trust Draco to notice the tiniest of movements…he stepped forward again, adjusting Harry’s head back into place. “Not a centimeter.” He warned, eyes shining. Leave it to Harry to crumble at his feet so easily, and then rise to a challenge. Draco pressed a kiss to Harry’s still lips, then wiped them with his thumb as though he’d left a mark. He trailed his hand along the left side of Harry’s jaw, down his neck, and his fingertips moved fleetingly down Harry’s bare chest until he stepped away.

Harry stayed, though his eyes flickered after Draco, and remained fixed on the door after it closed, his chest heaving slightly.

“How can you stand him?” It wasn’t how Draco had meant to address his mother as they sat across from one another in the parlor, warming their hands on hot tea.  
”Who, Dear?” Narcissa smiled and lifted her cup to her mouth, taking the barest sip, only wetting her lips before lowering it again to rest against the saucer.

”Father.” Draco replied, balancing his saucer on his knees and sighing. “He’s been rather cold since I’ve been back, more-so than usual. And he is absolutely harassing Harry-“

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at her son. “In all fairness, the two of you used to be able to bond over a common…dislike…for the Potter-child. And, you were gone for much of the summer, during which time your father and I agonized over whether Astoria was truly good match for you. Then your father alone suffered the tribulations of negotiations with Amadeus Greengrass…And, when he thought you would come home, excited at the premise of moving forward with your life, you balked and ignored him until he was forced to give you an ultimatum.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but his mother regarded him coolly.

”I am not finished, Draco.” She said. “When you returned, Potter-boy in tow, you seemed much changed from the young-man who left on an expedition a mere month-and-a-half earlier. I am certain that your father is finding it difficult to see eye-to-eye with you, of late, as am I.” To indicate she was done, Narcissa took another dainty sip of tea.

Draco was silent for several seconds as he searched for the appropriate words to convey how he was feeling. “I happen to disagree on a number of points of slave-management that the two of you seem to share. And it isn’t that I just recently changed my mind, only that I’ve decided to speak it. I rather enjoyed my time with Blaise, and as I am sure you are aware, his family has a different take on the subject altogether. And about Harry…”

Narcissa’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she allowed her son to continue. “He is rather well-trained, despite father’s opinion. I didn’t say he was perfect, but the way father has attacked him and continues to intimidate him is causing a rather drastic shift in his attitude, that frankly, is driving me spare.”

”You have a paddle and a whip, have you not?” Narcissa advised.

Draco tried not to scowl, and failed. “That will only make it worse! I don’t want a zombie for a slave!”

Narcissa’s eyebrows arched skyward and she pursed her lips together at her son’s outburst.

”I’m sorry.” Draco wiped his face with his hand. “I only mean to say that I am growing increasingly unhappy here, whatever the reason. I…want to enjoy the freedom of living on my own schedule. I wanted to let you know that I am thinking of finding my own place. There were several ads in The Daily Prophet and I have responded to two of them.”

The sharp clink of fine China spoke of Narcissa’s immediate displeasure. ”Your father will be most displeased.”

”I know.” Draco lowered his head slightly.

”And here I thought you had been spending your days corresponding with Astoria as you should be, not conspiring against your parents and your upbringing.” Narcissa sniffed.

”Mother…” Draco implored.

”The Manor should be spacious enough to grant you the freedom of any action you so please. We only ask that you show your face at mealtimes, lest we should never see you at all. It isn’t proper, you know, for a young, pureblooded man to hole himself up like a common bachelor. That’s how rumors start, and you know our society, the way they spread like the Fiendfyre itself…” She waved her hand. “Surely Amadeus would not approve, and what is poor Astoria to think? And your dear father…” her hand fluttered to her chest dramatically. “After everything he’s been through on your account, from the very beginning, he has only wanted what is best for you…And the last few years have been most unkind to him, especially after the fall of The Dark Lord…you’ll break his heart.”

Draco took a deep swallow of tea, and then pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. One of his mother’s supreme talents was the immense guilt trip she could manage to assemble, at the drop of a sorcerer’s hat. His brain worked frantically, scanning through his possible reactions and responses. “Mmm!” He exclaimed, setting aside his tea so abruptly that it splashed the lace cover adorning the table nearest him. “The carriage house.”

Narcissa wrinkled her nose at him. “The…carriage house?”

”I’ll move into the carriage house.” Draco insisted, rather excited about the compromise that was certain to sway his mother. “It’s still on the grounds, and wouldn’t be accessible to anyone who doesn’t already have access to The Manor. It will afford me the privacy I crave, and no-one will lose face.”

”Dear one,” Narcissa sighed and her posture all but slumped. “It’s filthy out there. There isn’t a proper floo or fireplace, even, and only a small stove. And let’s not even discuss the state of the loo…”

Draco’s mind was already set. He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “Certainly anything dirty can be cleaned, and the rest can be arranged, transfigured, or enlarged as I see fit. It hasn’t been used for nearly a century, at least! And, anything worth any value has no doubt already been seen to. Besides,” He argued with conviction. “If I hate it, I’ll simply have Harry move my things back here, no harm, no foul.”

Her conceding sigh was music to Draco’s ears. He could have leapt for joy, if it wouldn’t have made Narcissa regard him with even more displeasure. He stayed on for a bit longer, finishing his tea and making sure the conversation ended on a pleasant note.

As he returned to his room, he forced a frown onto his face, and regarded Harry seriously. “You have moved, haven’t you?”

“No, Master…” Harry breathed, barely moving his lips in response. His breath quickened as Draco neared and circled the corner of the bed, examining him.

”Yes, you have.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Harry’s rigid length, which had only been at half-mast when he left. “Harry.” Draco said, stroking the shaft slightly and moving back around to stand in front of his slave.

Harry’s eyes flickered to him anxiously. 

Draco licked his lips. “You’ve been very naughty.”


	27. Chapter 27

The carriage house was a ramshackle hut, compared to The Manor. There was only one floor, and because of the nature of its purpose, was essentially a one-roomed, spacious arena that had once housed the Malfoy family’s means of transportation; which, if one had done the research (and of course, Draco had), they would find included, at it’s peak, nearly twenty carriages and sleighs of different sizes and functions.

 

Since then, it had fallen into disuse. The majority of the lesser valued pieces had been sold or traded some time ago, and the more important relics preserved in temperature controlled vaults at Gringott’s. The interior anti-dust charms had failed some years ago, and there was a thick layer coating everything. Cobwebs drifted on the breeze when the door was opened, and Draco couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose with disgust.

 

Though they’d put the task off for the day, Draco had sent an owl off to Blaise, begging yet another favor. Much to the chagrin of Narcissa, Blaise and Alexei had arrived the following morning, interrupting the tail end of breakfast. Lucius had merely scowled and hid behind his paper, not even bothering with the rituals of polite society. He blamed the young Zabini boy’s influences for Draco’s recent transgressions and though he had encouraged their friendship in the past, now seriously questioned his thought process at the time.

 

The four young men were quick to escape the heavy atmosphere of The Manor in favor of the fresh, sunny air. There wasn’t much of a reunion, other than a recap of recent events on both ends as they strolled across the grounds and made their way to the wreck of a carriage house. When they got there, Draco motioned to Blaise, who nodded at Alexei, and suddenly, Harry was offered a set of trousers and a shirt. He drew them on gratefully, and then pulled the rickety doors open.

 

Draco scowled, Blaise blinked into the darkened room, and Alexei had a paroxysmal coughing fit, triggered by a rising dust plume.

 

”You’re going to live in that?” Blaise snorted.

 

”Surely even you can see the potential of the place, and given my circumstances, what other choice do I have?” Draco ducked beyond the threshold, dodging a drifting cobweb and flicked his wand. “Lumos.”

 

”I suppose you’re right.” Blaise conceded, following in Draco’s footsteps and gesturing for Alexei to stay behind, with Harry. He put his hands on his hips and turned slowly, assessing the place. “No one else you could call on to help out?”

 

Draco snorted and glanced back at Harry. “And risk all of Wizarding-society finding out about my little gem? Half of them’d be banging on my door for my autograph, and the rest would be assembling into a lynch mob.”

 

”True enough.” Blaise sighed. “You’ll owe me big, for this one, Malfoy.”

Draco smiled airily. “Put it on my tab, Zabini.” 

 

The three wanded-wizards took to banishing the layers of dust, and Harry set about dragging all the miscellaneous items and spare carriage and sleigh parts onto the grass just outside the carriage house doors. Little more than an hour later, the four of them took their first break, lounging in the shade and taking turns, pointing out to one-another how filthy they were. It had taken that long just to get rid of the past century’s worth of accumulated dust and cobwebs.

 

”Fuck,” Draco complained as he examined the thick line of dirt under his fingernails. He should have worn gloves. 

 

”If you think that’s your biggest problem,” Blaise teased him. “Don’t bother looking in the mirror.”

 

Draco scowled at him. “You think this is bad? Wait until we have to try and figure out how to install an updated loo. All that’s there now is the remnants of a latrine, and no bath-tub in sight.”

 

”Oh no, no way!” Blaise held up his hands. “You can hire a professional to do that. Hell, I’ll hire a professional for you. I didn’t sign on to build you a new place, just clean up the one you’ve got. Should’ve just got one of those new tents; the top-of-the-line product even has a charmed piping system that will link itself to the nearest source of running water.”

 

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Right, because it’s befitting of any wizard to camp out in his parent’s garden beyond the age of ten, regardless of the amenities…”

 

There was a short round of congenial bickering between the two of them before Blaise prompted them all back to work. Without it, they may have continued to laze about for the better portion of the day.

 

By suppertime, the carriage house had been practically gutted, thoroughly cleaned, and was half-way to a civilized living space. They’d snuck a dozen Persian rugs out of The Manor and layered them over the entire floor of the carriage house, which once had been lovely tile, but now was a cracked and stained mess of a floor that no amount of spelling would repair. An ornate, mahogany dressing screen had been pilfered from one of the lesser-used guest bedrooms, used to help divide the open floor plan and define a sleeping area. Draco’s own bed was due to be transported there, along with his dresser and armoire. They’d been caught in the act of “borrowing” a table by Narcissa herself, and Draco had been resigned to purchasing his own set, along with a modern range and a proper parlor set-up. That would have to wait until the following day, however.

 

Although Lucius had made himself scarce, Draco’s mother had continued to conform to societal expectations, and asked Blaise to stay for dinner. Draco then one-upped her and invited them to stay the night. Although Narcissa’s eyes had narrowed, she didn’t dare rescind the offer, and bade two of the slaves to prepare the guestroom on the third floor. 

 

The guestroom, however, went unused. They had retired to Draco’s suite after dinner and while the two Master’s savored each other’s company over a few stiff drinks, Harry and Alexei enjoyed relaxing on Draco’s chaise by the window. Ultimately, they’d fallen asleep that way, with Alexi snuggled against Harry’s chest, and one of Harry’s arms around his shoulders, the other dangling off the edge of the lounge and grazing the floor.

 

“Pity to move them,” Blaise commented with a nod toward their slaves as he got to his feet, stifling a yawn. “I’m exhausted.”

 

”It’s too bad we couldn’t go on like this forever,” Draco commented sadly as he set aside his empty tumbler. He stood and stretched his arms wide, arching his back before he straightened and began to take down his shirt buttons. “Suppose we’d be the talk of the town though.” He shoved down his trousers and stepped out of them before kicking them aside. “Coming to bed, then?”

 

”You mean you’re actually asking me into your bed?” Blaise pretended to be shocked.

 

”Wanker.” Draco threw back the bedclothes and climbed in. “Suit yourself.” He sniffed and drew the coverlet up to his chest, turning on one side so that he faced away from Blaise.

 

”Just like you, to always put your best side on display…” Blaise came around the other end of the bed and climbed in, slipping an arm around Draco’s middle and pulling him close. He kissed he back of Draco’s neck and reached around to fondle him.

 

”Do you think of nothing else?” Draco hissed, prying at Blaise’s fingers. “I thought you were exhausted.”

 

”I thought you wanted us to go on like this forever?” Blaise nibbled Draco’s ear lobe.

 

”The four of us, living together, is what I meant. I’m not in the mood to be buggered!” Draco hissed.

 

“You’re never in the mood to be buggered when it happens that you might have an audience…” Blaise reasoned, tweaking Draco’s nipple and causing him to stiffen and stifle a groan. He dropped his voice to a mere whisper. “But I so happen to know that you very much enjoy being buggered, and that I’m the only person you’ve ever allowed to replace that stick in your arse with his cock…” He shifted one hand down and wedged a finger in between Draco’s tightly clenched buttocks, tickling the pucker there with the tip of his finger.

 

”You’re en evil bastard, Zabini!” Draco ground out between his teeth, pressing back almost involuntarily at the teasing stimulus.

 

”Harry, you awake?” Blaise said softly. There came no response. “Lexi?”

 

Alexei groaned softly and half turned in Harry’s arms, but nothing more.

 

”Satisfied?”

 

”Be quick about it!” Draco relented, relaxing and admitting Blaise between his legs.

 

”Yes, Master.” Blaise cheekily responded.

 

 

The Carriage House, upon completion, had more the charm of a gypsy caravan than the elegance of The Manor. It was a cozy atmosphere, and Draco was beginning to relax amongst the haphazard piles of books and still-packed trunks. He’d set up his potions kit in one corner, along with a narrow table and a work bench. Just across the way was the old range, that Harry, surprisingly, was rather good at working to make tea and other small meals. Narcissa and Lucius refused to visit their son there, but frankly, that had been a blessing.

 

It had taken a small amount of goading from Lucius before Draco finally penned an awkward letter to Astoria and owled it off to Hogwarts. It served nothing more than to cement their first meeting, of which Draco was certain, was destined to be even more awkward than the letter itself. Her owl was on the small side, and of the species with puffy, downy, white feathers that seemed more suited to a boa than a living creature. It had large yellow eyes, and rather reminded Draco of a plushie he’d toted as a toddler.

 

Astoria’s response was penned in large, loopy letters, and was nothing like his mother’s floral cursive, or Pansy’s tight, neat script. He barely scanned the parchment, and just enough to read her confirmation near the bottom, before discarding it somewhere. It had become quickly lost in the shuffle, and was likely lying somewhere beneath a pile of texts. Without disapproving eyes following after his every move, Draco found he had room to breathe after-all, and had become quite laidback, if not downright lazy, rather quickly.

 

Harry much warmed to the space that Draco called his own, and was beginning to settle into his role and his place. He had utter and total trust in Draco, a feeling which was comforting, and yet surprising, given their long history. Although, it seemed, the two of them had managed to put it to rest, once and for all.

 

It was a crisp fall afternoon, and Draco was standing before an oval full-length mirror, his view of himself partially blocked by Harry’s slender form. Harry was busy tying Draco’s tie, and straightened his lapel for him before stepping aside so that Draco could scrutinize his own appearance.

 

”Getting quite good at that,” Draco complimented, minutely adjusting the knot and sending a nervous smile Harry’s way. He was due to meet Astoria in Hogsmeade for their first official outing, although they had exchanged the occasional owl in the meanwhile. He had not been looking forward to the encounter, and his moods had been vacillating between anxiety and pent up anger for the last few days.

 

”Thank you, Master.” Harry murmured, sinking to his knees beside Draco. He’d just finished helping him dress, but looking at his Master’s handsome reflection in the looking glass made him wish that Draco would stay and keep him company instead. He tipped his head against Draco’s thigh, and was rewarded with an affectionate tousle of his hair.

 

Harry sighed and inched closer, nuzzling his face against Draco’s inner thigh. He could smell Draco’s familiar musk through his charcoal-colored trousers, and feel the soft length of his penis near his cheek. He pressed his face against it, gently rubbing until he felt the organ start to stir.

 

”Harry…” Draco said in warning, his fingers tightening in his slave’s hair. “Don’t muss me…”

 

”Hmmmm, no, Master.” Harry whispered, but defiantly continued the motion until he felt Draco harden and langthen, and a wet spot begin to blossom through the fabric. Then, he changed the angle of his head and moved his mouth along the rigid outline of Draco’s cock.

 

Draco clutched at Harry’s shoulders and canted his hips forward. “You insubordinate beast…” He whispered desperately. “I’m going to…hmm, oh! Strap your arse with my belt…” he threatened, allowing his eyes to shut and his head to fall back.

 

”This belt, Master?” Harry questioned deviously as he undid the buckle that only minutes ago he’d helped to fasten.

 

“The very same…You cheeky devil!” Draco gasped as Harry tugged his trousers open, freeing his trapped erection.

 

Harry rubbed his cheek back and forth along Draco’s hot, hard length, and it left a glistening smear of pre-come that he didn’t bother to wipe away.

 

“Harry!” Draco’s tone had a hint of desperation in it. “So help me, if you make me late…” Harry’s tongue darted out, caressing the exposed crown, and Draco groaned. “You are a patron of insolence…” His hips jerked forward again, as Harry continued to lap at him teasingly. “Suck me, already you…” Draco was unable to deliver his final retort, and gasped when a wet heat enveloped him. After a long moment, he was able to open his eyes again, and gazed at their reflection in the mirror. Then, he glanced downward, appreciating the way Harry’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked, and the way his long, dark lashes fluttered. His fingers dug into Harry’s shoulder bones and he fought the weakness in his knees that was accompanied by a tense heat that shot through his groin and up his spine. “Look at me!” He commanded tersely.

 

Harry raised his guileless, green eyes and locked sights with his Master.

 

Draco jerked, suddenly flooded with sensation, and Harry grabbed at his hips, pulling him forward and deeper into his throat as he swallowed. When he finally pulled back, a strand of pearlescent come webbed between Harry’s lips. Draco drew a ragged breath and steadied himself.

 

Harry licked his lips and smiled. “Shall I help you dress, Master?”

 

Draco snorted with faint amusement. It had not been twenty minutes prior that Harry had posed the same question. “No.” He summoned a cloth and wiped himself on it, then toed out of his shoes. He hastily changed into a fresh pair of trousers while Harry watched, and when he was situated again reached for his slave. He pulled him up by one arm and turned him toward the end of the room with the bed. “I meant it, when I said I was going to strap you.”

 

”I know, “ Harry acknowledged, allowing himself to be escorted, and then bent over the end of the bed.

 

“Not now though,” Draco sighed, waving his wand and casting magical restraints to keep his slave positioned in his absence.

 

Harry whimpered but did not test the strength of his bonds. He did however, turn his head to watch Draco as he stepped back in front of the mirror and ran a hand through his hair one last time. 

 

Draco brushed an invisible flaw from the shoulder of his shirt and smiled at Harry one last time before disapparating.


	28. Chapter 28

Hogsmeade was over-run by rambunctious teenagers, excited to be set free from the confines of school, even for a day. Draco scowled as his elbow was bumped and two young wizards blew past him, barely a “Sorry” escaping them. Had it been such a short time ago that he had looked forward to such jaunts?

As he stood on the corner of High Street and the alleyway that jutted past Honeydukes, he began to realize that leaving Harry strapped to the bed may have been a poor choice on his behalf. He was already distracted and caught up in the fantasy of what would come to be, and had failed to keep his eye out for Astoria, who, according to his recently cast Tempus, was nearly twenty minutes late. 

Finally, a gaggle of giggling girls came to pause on the corner across the way from his own. The way the group looked at him expectantly made him feel slightly off kilter. He smoothed down his shirt and tie, adjusted his collar, and lifted his head. Finally, one of them broke free from the group and crossed the street, waving her hand at the others. It was Astoria, it had to be. Draco had seen her plenty of times in passing while at Hogwarts, and in the dorms for a short while, when she would try to hang around Daphne. But she had been even more child-like then.

Astoria’s hair was as light as his own, and looked like spun-sugar. Her eyes were bright blue and sparkling, and her high cheekbones held a natural flush. There was no denying that she was an attractive person, but her kind didn’t have the intended effect on Draco. He forced himself to smile, when all he wanted to give was a tight lipped frown. Too, he bit back his snappy reminder that she was late. “Astoria?” He said instead. It wouldn’t do to frighten and alienate his future wife so early in their relationship.

“Hi, Draco.” She said with an almost-shy smile as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

Suddenly, all of Draco’s etiquette training went out the window, and he had no idea whether he should kiss her hand, or her cheek, or even kiss her at all. His chest tightened and for a moment he couldn’t breath. He had to break eye contact, and looked away, chuckling nervously. He offered her his elbow instead. “Well, shall we?”

Astoria slipped her arm through his easily. “Are we going to Madam Puddifoots?”

Draco looked down at her, and saw her eyes full of expectant wonder. He’d much rather hole himself in a corner of the Hog’s Head with a doubler of Whiskey, but he wasn’t here for himself. He had been given explicit direction not to go anywhere in Hogsmeade that they couldn’t been seen publicly, and not to leave Hogsmeade itself, as if he would do such a thing. He nodded. “Unless you preferred the Three Broomsticks?” He couldn’t help it if the tone in his voice was hopeful.

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “That’s hardly romantic, is it? All my friends are there…”

”Hardly,” Draco smiled again and patted her arm. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge the girl a bit, would it? But if she was looking to be wooed, she was barking up the wrong tree. Draco didn’t have any sense of the word, and no desire to know. It seemed like an awful lot of effort, especially when the usually desired outcome (landing the woman in between the sheets) made him recoil. 

When they arrived at Puddifoots, Draco helped her out of her coat and hung it along with his. It was only after he’d helped her with her chair and settled across from her that he noticed how incredibly low-cut her pale green sweater was. “Um,” He began to blush. Not that he hadn’t seen a pair of tits before. Merlin. Pansy was always tossing hers about. But he didn’t have some kind of karmic retribution-er-destiny to marry Pansy and father her children. Anyway, what the hell was Astoria trying so hard for? They were already betrothed. Draco cleared his throat. “If you get cold, I’d be happy to fetch your coat for you.”

Astoria gave him an odd sort of look, but thankfully the waiter came to take their beverage orders. Draco had ordered a pot of tea, thinking for them to share it. But then Astoria asked for a cup of coffee, smiling apologetically after the waiter had gone. “I hope you won’t think less of me for that. I’m hopelessly addicted to coffee…”

“Think less of you? Of course not.” Draco assured her. It was just one more thing he was going to tack up on the already growing list of things they didn’t have in common.

Draco asked Astoria how classes were going, and immediately felt like an idiot for doing so. She didn’t seem to notice, however, and chattered on throughout much of lunch, hopping from one topic to the next, and then back again. She was a giggly thing, enthusiastic, and perhaps a little flighty. But it lessened the pressure on Draco to make idle conversation. 

When they had finished eating, Draco suggested a stroll to help them digest, and Astoria-who preferred to be addressed as ‘Tori’- requested a trip to Honeydukes. The conversation had begin to wind down between them, and thus prompted Draco to ask her another silly question. “So, do you have any pets?”

While browsing the counters, Tori went off on a litany of all the pets she had ever owned, some her friends had, and those she’d like in the future. It segued from names she would give pets into names she could never give her pets, because she was saving them for her children. That had prompted Draco to purchase an entire tin of peppermints, to settle his suddenly uneasy stomach.

By the time the day trip to Hogsmeade was through, Draco was laden down with boxes and bags of things that he had purchased for Astoria, along with things she’d gotten for herself. He escorted her back to Hogwarts, making the familiar trek, although one he’d honestly never thought he’d make again. At the gate, Astoria turned toward him with a broad smile.  
“Thank you for a lovely time. I’m so glad my father picked you for me. I always thought you were handsome. I mean, you’re like, fifty times better looking than Theo!” She batted her eyes while Draco flushed again and tried to humbly accept the compliment. He knew that he was good looking, and he supposed it was rather a good thing that his future-wife found him attractive…

“Are you sure you’ll be able to manage?” He asked her as she began to unload him of his burden of packages.

“Why, Draco Malfoy…” Astoria grinned. “I do believe you’re just looking for a chance to see my bedchamber!” She giggled while Draco was protesting, then quickly ducked in to kiss him. His hands were still laden with packages, and he couldn’t push her away. Instead, he lifted his head and took a step back, stammering. Never in his life has anyone, let alone a girl, ruffled his feathers like this.

“Astoria!” Draco chastised in a whisper. “I hardly think this is the, ah, appropriate time and place…”

She giggled and stepped forward, even as Draco stepped back. “My bags?” She gestured with a wide grin.

Draco held them out at arms length to her. As she retrieved her things, she looked up flirtatiously at the man she was going to marry. “Daphne told me that you were rather upright…But don’t worry. I know how to break down a man’s defenses…” She grinned as Draco blushed some more, and then waved to him. “Until next time, Draco!”

Draco fumbled for another peppermint before disapparating. 

 

“Salazar,” Draco huffed on arrival, and tugged to loosen his tie. “That girl is incorrigible.” He waited for Harry’s canned response, ‘What girl, Master?’. He could almost bet on it. It was their way of conversing so that Draco didn’t feel like he was talking to himself, and Harry got to feel involved without forgetting his place.

But there was no response from Harry. Draco frowned and moved toward the ‘bedroom’, unbuttoning his shirt and then shrugging out of it. The even way Harry’s breath made his back rise and fall was evidence enough that he was asleep, before Draco even circled the bed to see that his eyes were closed and his mouth open. How anyone could sleep in that position—eagle-armed, spread-legged, and bent at the waist, was beyond Draco. But then, this was Harry, and Harry could probably sleep in a cupboard. Had slept in a cupboard…wasn’t that the rumor?

Draco unstrung his belt and gazed at it a moment, contemplating. Then he looked back to Harry; his lithe arms, the pert curve of his rump…any lingering distaste over Astoria faded away and his prick began to wake. He considered the reason Harry was waiting on a punishment…remembered the look in Harry’s eyes as he sucked him off. It was enough that Draco wordlessly summoned the pot of lube from the bedside table. He balanced it in one hand while withdrawing himself from his pants with the other, and then slicked himself well. He was going to give his slave a wake-up call.

Harry was a heavy sleeper, and barely stirred when Draco caressed a line down from his back to his thigh. With a wicked smile, Draco parted Harry’s buttocks, and completely entered him with a single rough thrust. 

Harry’s body tightened immediately, shocked from sleep by the sudden violation, and he struggled against his bonds. “Oh!” He cried out.

Draco took the liberty of a few forceful strokes, driving in so deep that his balls smacked the curve of Harry’s arse audibly. After meeting with continued resistance, Draco stilled, and brushed his hand up Harry’s back again. “Harry, it’s me…”

Harry calmed and then relaxed against the mattress with an audible sigh.

“Give you a bit of a start, did I?” Draco resumed thrusting, albeit much more gently.

“Yes, Master.” Harry nodded. His heart was still pounding in his chest. Though Lucius had not once deigned himself to visit the carriage house, there was no telling whether he would or not, and when. And it would be like him, to take advantage of a prone and bound slave. In fact, that had been the first thought to enter Harry’s mind on waking.

“I couldn’t help myself, you know...” Draco explained himself as he stroked. “When I got back, you were just here…waiting for me. Ready to be used. You’ve got a…ah, yeah…a gorgeous arse, you know that?”

“Thank you, Master.” Harry blushed. Draco wasn’t always so glib during their interactions. When Draco shifted his angle slightly, the sudden slide of his cock along Harry’s prostate caused him to go up on his toes. “Mmm, ohh…” Harry groaned and curled his fingers into the bedclothes.

Draco’s fingers dug into the curves of Harry’s hipbones as he increased his speed and rhythm. Harry’s moans were punctuated by Draco’s panting breaths and the slap of skin on skin. 

Harry’s body began to tighten in anticipation of release, and it was clear that he was struggling to keep himself in line. “M-master?” he began to ask.

“Don’t…don’t you dare.” Draco warned, changing his angle again and thrusting harder. “Don’t you dare c-come until I s-say s-OH!” Draco climaxed seemingly unexpectedly. He drew in and out a few more times before pushing in to the hilt, and resting his weight against Harry. “Fucking hell, Harry…” Finally, Draco pulled away. He watched as a dribble of his own spunk escaped after him, and began to trickle down the inside of Harry’s leg. 

Still regaining his breath, Draco leant down and pulled a trunk from under the bed and flipped the lid open with one hand. He spent a mere moment rummaging, and came up with a nearly conical shaped plug that was wider at the base than the tip. “And to think,” He said, beginning to work the toy inside Harry without a warning. “We could have been doing this for years…”

Even loosened as he was from their exertions, the plug still stretched Harry’s hole, and he ground his teeth together as his muscles clenched around the object.. “Ooooooh!”

“Relax…” Draco prompted, stroking him gently, pushing with a slow but firm pressure until the toy was fully in.

Harry could feel bits of leather dangling down the backs of his legs, and for a moment, he thought the plug had a tail on it, which caused him to flush. But then, his Master was reaching between his legs, drawing the strings between his legs, around his waist, and they tightened over his skin.

When Draco had finished with the harness, he settled onto the mattress beside Harry and pet him, smoothing his hands through Harry’s hair, and down his back. After some time, he spotted his belt, slightly askew, but otherwise still folded and laying on the coverlet beside Harry. He reached for it, and when his ribcage pressed against Harry’s face, the slave mouthed him eagerly.

Draco smiled and dragged the belt into his lap, smoothing and straightening the length of black leather before doubling it again. “Why did you do it, Harry?”

“Master?” Harry questioned with a frown.

“Keep up your antics when I said I would punish you for it…You haven’t been so willful in a long time…” Draco pondered this even as he said it.

“I am a bad slave,” Harry whispered, but the tone of his voice made it clear that he didn’t believe it for a second.

“Now is not the time for canned responses, Harry.” Draco frowned and offered the belt toward him. After Harry pressed his lips to the leather, he patted his head, and then got up, moving back around him. He let the leather trail over his shoulders and back. “I want to know why…”

Harry licked his lips and closed his eyes. “I wanted you.”

“You wanted me to what, punish you?” Draco laid the belt over the small of Harry’s back and delicately parted Harry’s buttocks, looking at the portion of the plug that was exposed to him.

Harry arched toward him as much as he could, still bound by magic, to the bed-frame. “No,” He clarified. “I just wanted you. In that moment…Master, you were so…”

“So what?” Draco prompted, pressing Harry’s arse cheeks back together, and pinching one of the rounded swells before picking up his belt again.

“H-handsome…” Harry stammered, trying not to rub himself against the coverlet. “And I could smell you. And I wanted you, however you would let me h-have you…”

Draco was surprised by Harry’s confession, but he tried not to let it show. He let the belt slide over Harry’s bottom, pale now, but not for long. “Wanted me enough to take a strapping for it?”

“Yes!” Harry’s whispered admission was immediate, and he pushed up on his toes again, raising his buttocks as high as he could.

“Well, I’ll try not to disappoint, then.” Draco cracked his belt in the air, and Harry flinched at the sound. “Ready?”

“Yes…” Harry’s fingers curled into the bedclothes again and he widened his stance slightly. The smacks came slowly but steadily, and warmed Harry’s flesh anew. His cock was aching and straining, and he could feel the fabric beneath him dampening, not just from sweat, but from his steady drizzle of pre-come.

“How many more do you want?” Draco paused to ask him, running his hand over the reddened skin.

Harry moaned lowly. “However many you’ll give, Master.”

“I’m being serious here, Harry.” Draco said. He’d only vaguely been keeping track of the number of strokes he’d delivered, and was somewhere around thirty. He remembered he’d once delivered a hundred, and had Harry in tears, but he couldn’t remember when they’d come.

“So am I,” Harry whispered after some contemplation. “I…I trust you.”

The belt nearly slipped from Draco’s fingers, and he tightened his grip at the last minute to keep the length from coiling on the floor. He had to swallow a few times. Finally, he raised his arm and continued, delivering seven more strokes. Harry was squirming, and Draco thought he heard a sniffle. He dropped the belt on the floor and spelled Harry free of his bonds before pulling him against him and kissing his face. “You were so good, so perfect…” Draco whispered, and Harry clung to him.

“Thank you, Master, thank you.”

Draco’s hand dropped from Harry’s shoulder and made it’s way down between them. He rolled his thumb over the head of Harry’s darkened erection.

Harry hissed and convulsed toward Draco, suddenly gripping him tightly. “Oh, Master, please… I need to come, please let me come.”

“Not just yet,” Draco said, and Harry groaned. He pushed his slave back so that he was sitting on the edge of the mattress. Harry squirmed as the blankets scratched at his tender bottom. Draco summoned a chair from the table, and pulled it almost flush with the mattress. He sat directly before Harry, folded his arms, and then nodded. “Touch yourself.”

Harry began to do as he was told, but his motions were reserved, gentle. He was afraid to touch himself the way he wanted to, afraid he was going to make a mess.

“More.” Draco commanded.

Harry tightened his grip, and immediately bucked into his own hand, letting loose a heady moan.

“Just like that,” Draco prompted. “But pinch your nipples with your free hand. Be rough, I know that’s how you like it.”

Soon, Harry was panting and writhing, and really struggling to contain himself. “Master…please!” He begged, voice pitching high with stress.

“Please, what, Harry?” Draco questioned. He was just shy of reaching a hand down to touch himself. But why bother? He had a slave to take care of his needs, and a damned skilled one at that.

“Please, please, please!” he panted, stroking himself to the tune of his words whether he realized it or not. “Please, I can’t, I’m going to…Use the spell!”

“The spell?” Draco questioned, suddenly intrigued. “Which spell?”

“The one…that..won’t…let me…come!” Harry pleaded. “Please, I can’t hold off any more…Master…please…the spell!?”

“No,” Draco said, and Harry squealed in frustration. But Draco was on his feet, pushing Harry flat against the mattress. He took his slave’s cock in his own hand and pumped him with a practiced hand. “Come for me,” He whispered in Harry’s ear, and felt the man’s cock twitch, even as he spoke.

Harry howled as he climaxed, shooting hot spunk over his own chest, and his Master’s hand. He bucked into Draco’s tight grip, and his orgasm seemed to go on forever. Finally, the crashing waves of pleasure subsided and he allowed his body to sink into the soft cocoon of mattress beneath him. Draco had one hand tangled in his hair, and was kissing his neck with the other. All of it was over stimulating, but he was in no position to argue. 

Draco lifted his sticky hand to Harry’s mouth, and let Harry clean it with his talented tongue. Finally, he pulled back and looked at his slave. Long-lashed, heavy lidded green eyes clouded with satiated lust, but clearly gazing at him with devotion…devotion of the sort he’d never seen before. He licked his lips, and then licked Harry’s, tasting his bitter and salty come for the first time. Draco shifted his head, and locked their lips together


	29. Chapter 29

Though winter had not officially come by date on the calendar, the air had taken on a thin and icy quality as it was wont to do in England and other such northern areas. Draco was happier when the colder weather descended on them, as he’d always had a penchant for thick sweaters and scarves. Even at night, he would damp down the fire so that a chill would settle throughout the room. His bed was quite comfortable and piled high with heavy, fluffy blankets.

Despite all of this, Harry lay at the foot of the bed, covered with a lone blanket, and shivering. Draco shifted as he woke, and nudged Harry with one of his feet.

”What’re you doing?” He grumbled sleepily.

”S-sorry, Master.” Harry chattered. He curled more tightly around himself and tried to still his quaking frame. It was a futile attempt. The most he could do was clench his jaw shut to keep his teeth from clacking together, but the bed reverberated with the micro-vibrations from his shivering.

“Harry!” Draco scowled with annoyance and nudged him again. “Cut it out, I’m trying to sleep.”

Harry tucked his chin against his chest and sighed. “I’m sorry, Sir…it’s just that it’s so cold…”

“Cold?” Draco fumbled under his pillow for his wand, and with his eyes shut, sent a poorly aimed warming charm Harry’s way before falling back against the mattress.

Harry could feel a slight warmth dissipating toward him from the area just beyond the edge of the bed, where the charm had settled. He stretched his fingers toward it, as if the warmth were something tangible that he would be able to pull over him.

“Oh, fuck-all!” Draco huffed as Harry shifted again. He was a notoriously light sleeper, and easily irritated by the littlest things, especially in the middle of the night. Aside from the time he’d accidentally kicked Harry off the end of the bed, this was the biggest issue they’d encountered while sharing the bed.

Harry flinched and stilled as Draco threw his blankets back, half on top of him. Draco hauled himself into a sitting position, and Harry became entirely certain that he was in for a midnight beating.

“Get up here, will you?” Draco took his slave by the upper arm and hauled him toward the head of the bed. Between that and Harry’s scrambling feet, the bedclothes were a right mess by the time he made it up there.

“Master…please…I’m sorry!” Harry clutched at Draco in the dark. “I’ll sleep on the floor. I’m sorry… you don’t have to…”  
“Will you shut your gob already?” Draco growled at him, flustering Harry’s hands away. He bent and stuffed Harry’s legs beneath the sheets, and then reached down, grabbing a handful of the blankets. He pulled them back over the two of them, up to their chins, and then rolled on his side, roughly turning Harry so that they were facing the same direction. Draco hooked a hand around Harry’s waist and then pulled him backward hard enough that when Harry’s backend collided with his front, the force of it crushed Draco’s balls slightly, causing them to ache. Draco grunted and then forced his knee up between Harry’s thighs, trying to find a comfortable position for them to occupy together.

“Better?” Draco finally asked, snuggling down into his pillow.

It was. Except that all the frenzied motion, and then the feeling of his Master pressed against him had given Harry a raging hard-on. “Yes, Master.” Harry whispered, and forced himself to ignore the caress of Draco’s fingertips on his sternum.

“Go to sleep, then.” Draco commanded softly, his breathing coming hot against the back of Harry’s neck.

While it had been easy for Draco to be pulled back into the warm arms of sleep, Harry lay awake, and completely still for sometime. He’d gone from freezing cold to incredibly hot in seemingly seconds, and he had to will away his erection before he could even think of getting comfortable. 

When Harry could finally relax and close his eyes instead of staring out into the bleakness of the carriage house, Draco curled his arm more tightly around his chest, and mumbled unintelligibly in his sleep. And though sleep was finally claiming him too, he fought it for a few more minutes, trying to decipher what it was that Draco had said.

 

Harry awoke to roaming hands and the jut of something warm and hard against his back. He sighed and pressed back against his Master, rocking his hips slightly. Without any warning, he found himself on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow, and Draco shifted his weight between Harry’s parting thighs.

After they were through, and Draco was enjoying a hot cup of tea at the small table by the window, he let his eyes roam over the slave at his feet. Finally, he set his teacup aside and leaned down, rubbing his fingers over Harry’s cheeks and chin, and then down his chest. He frowned. “Charm’s failed.” The way he brushed his fingers minutely back and forth made Harry acutely aware of the faint stubble that had grown in, after several months. “Have to get you to the groomers…” Draco withdrew his hand and resumed sipping his tea. “Fetch me a parchment and quill from the desk, and rouse Artemis.”

 

A deep gong resonated the walls of the carriage house, and announced the presence of someone on the stoop. Harry jumped at the sound, but Draco seemed unphased. He turned one last page of the newspaper he’d been reading, then stood, motioning Harry behind the privacy screen that delineated the boundary between the bedroom and the rest of the living space. Harry pressed close again the shutters and peered through the cracks where the heavy mahogany doors were folded at the hinges.

Draco crossed and opened the door himself, immediately becoming flustered. “Pansy!?” He said incredulously. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, Hullo to you too, love.” She grinned and brushed her cheek against his by way of greeting, and then pushed past him into the room, eyes wide and flashing as she made immediate assessments.

Draco scowled and pulled the door shut behind them. “I mean it. Why are you here?”

“Hmmm, cozy, but not quite what I was expecting…” Pansy ignored him and flopped down onto one end of his settee. 

“Pansy,” Draco pressed.

Her full mouth settled into a thin line of exasperation. “Did you, or did you not owl me yesterday, and announce that you were in need of grooming services, and matters requiring the utmost discretion?”

Draco settled down on the other end of the sofa, angling his body toward her. “I owled your service, not you, specifically. And I did mention matters requiring the utmost discretion, which again begs the question of why you are here…”

Pansy’s lips pursed. “It is my business, and who would be more discrete than the owner? And, contrary to popular opinion, I do know when to keep my mouth closed, Draco. Idle gossip is one thing, but loyalty to my friends and customers is another matter entirely.” She folded her arms under her breasts and studied her fingernails, pretending to be wounded.

Draco studied her a long while. “If you breathe a word to anyone…” he finally conceded.

Pansy’s head jerked up, face bearing a wide grin. “May I wed a Muggle-born Hufflepuff and spend the rest of my days, bearing a multitude of squib-children….” She promised, crossing her fingers over her heart.

Satisfied with her oath, Draco leaned forward, catching Harry’s spying eyes through the crack in the screen. He sighed and beckoned with one hand. “Come on out, Harry.”

Despite the command, Harry hung back from the edge of the screen for a moment, only half of his face and body visible, before he slipped out completely. He tucked his head down and went to Draco’s side, kneeling at his feet. Draco brushed his hair absently, and then waited for Pansy’s reaction.

She had pulled her purse onto her lap and was digging, elbow deep, muttering to herself. She glanced up at Harry, then back into her purse. It took a moment to register what her eyes had seen, and when she finally realized what it was that required so much discretion, her head snapped up and she gaped. “Sweet fucking Merlin! That looks just like Sodding-Potter!”

“Is.” Draco sniffed. Harry planted his face shyly into the crook of Draco’s knee, and Draco pat him gently for a moment.

“Say again?” Pansy’s fingers closed over what she’d been looking for- a pack of gum, and she popped a piece into her mouth before throwing the pack back into the recesses of her purse. She chewed violently and looked on with interest.

“It is, Harry. Potter, that is.” Draco tucked his fingers in Harry’s hair and drew back, lifting his reddened face to Pansy’s narrowing eyes.

“Holy Salazar. Fuck.” She swore, and jumped up from the settee, dumping her purse on the floor.

“Don’t twist your knickers.” Draco drawled, looking up at her. “He’s been mine for months, but I can’t exactly go on and tell anyone, now can I?”

“Fuck. Potter. Fuck.” She swore again, and Draco was torn between feeling amused, and annoyed. Harry flinched with each explicative.

“Sit down, already, won’t you? You’re making Harry nervous.” He smoothed his hand through Harry’s hair again. “Want a cuppa?”

“Merlin.” Pansy began to laugh as she settled back into her seat. “Fucking hell, leave it to you, Draco. You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

Draco shook his head with a smile, and then nudged Harry. “Tea, then.”

Grateful to get away, Harry nodded and scrambled backward on to his feet, then veritably bolted into the corner to tend to the stove.

“Liar.” Pansy accused with a scowl as she watched Harry go. “He hasn’t any specs. He’s too thin…and Potter…your slave…” She snorted. “Good one.”

Draco lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Picked him up in Romania the summer after his reported ‘secret holiday’. Had his eyes fixed in Italy on the way back, couldn’t quite stand the speccy git myself after I’d first gotten him. Of course, things are different now, but…”

Pansy’s eyes widened. “This summer? In Italy? He’s the boy Blaise was going on about at his Auntie’s funeral?”

“Mmhm” Draco affirmed, eyes glued to Harry as he clattered about in the kitchen area, much noisier than usual. 

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Pansy said contrarily, as the idea finally began to sink in. “And you waited all this time to tell me?! Well, you must be having a bloody ball, having the Savior of the World slobbering at your feet…” 

“Something like that…” Draco agreed.

Finally, Harry returned with the tea-service tray, and set it down on the table.

“How do you take your tea, er….” Harry addressed Pansy awkwardly, and couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

“Just a little milk, and it’s ‘Mistress Parkinson’ to you now, Potter.” Pansy chirped smugly.

Draco shot Pansy a look.

“You’re right…” She leaned over and patted Draco’s knee. “Mistress Parkinson is my mum.” She redirected her attention to Harry as he poured her tea. “You can call me ‘Mistress Pansy’.”

Harry passed the teacup to her on a saucer and meakly replied as his face started to flush, “Yes, Mistress Pansy.” He was grateful to return his attentions to preparing his Master’s tea the way he liked it. When he had passed the cup over, he asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Master?”

“No, Harry. That’s fine for now.” Draco paused to sip his tea, and then subtly patted the arm of the sofa. Harry moved there and knelt so that he was within reach, the way Draco liked him to be.

Pansy chuckled around the rim of the cup, and then blew on the surface to cool it. “I’ll be damned…you bested that half-blooded pain in the arse, just like you always said you would…”

Draco smiled at Pansy, though his eyes flashed over at Harry. “Did you ever doubt me?”

When they’d finished with tea, Pansy got down to business. Draco cleared a space in the middle of the floor for them, and she began to work on restoring Harry to his formerly well-groomed and largely hairless state. Draco sat not too far away, in an arm chair, observing.

Though Harry had been groomed a countless number of times before, there was something disconcerting about being felt up by one’s former classmate while being watched by another, even if Draco had already seen, and manipulated him into hundreds of compromising positions.

“Bend over and grab your ankles, Potter.” Pansy ordered with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.

As Harry complied, the gong sounded again, startling him. He began to straighten, then frozen, as Pansy continued to work and slathered lotion into the crack of his arse.

“I’ve got it,” Draco scowled and pushed himself up from his chair. He crossed to the door, and opened it with surprise. “Mother?” He looked over his shoulder at the scene unfolding in his living room. “Won’t you…er, come in?”

“I’d rather not.” Narcissa sniffed. “Can you accompany me for a stroll in the gardens? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” 

“Of course…” Draco started to step out and paused. “Allow me to retrieve my coat, and I’ll be right with you.”

Narcissa nodded and tied her own shawl more tightly around herself, stepping back on the doorstep and allowing Draco to partially close the door.

“So help me, Pansy…” Draco uttered lowly as he drew on his coat. “If I come back and any part of him smells like snatch, you’ll rue the day…”

Pansy snorted and kept massaging lotion into Harry’s arse and thighs.

“I mean it!” Draco hissed, popping his collar and straightening it, then smoothing it back into place. “Blaise told me what you did with Alexei, and I’m not interested in a repeat performance.”

Pansy smirked back at him. “Blaise doesn’t mind sharing with me. You, however, have always been a selfish prat. But don’t worry, love. I’ve no interest in your ‘boy’, as it were. Now, don’t want to keep your mum waiting too long, do you?”

Draco had no sooner shut the door than Pansy pushed a slick finger inside of Harry. He made a soft mewling sound of surprise and wavered, his balance off-set. “I lied,” Pansy whispered. “There’s nothing more I’d love than to put you in your place. Use you for the sake of using you. It’s a pity I didn’t pack my big cock…” She curled her finger inside of him. “You could suck it just before I stuffed you full and fucked you with it…you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Harry was silent, and practically holding his breath, lest she misinterpret even that for something it wasn’t. His heart was thudding in his chest, and his face was crimson. He willed Draco to return.

“You wouldn’t tell Draco on me, would you?” She batted her eyes sweetly.

Harry swallowed thickly before responding. “I wouldn’t have to, he would know.”

Pansy slipped her finger free with a scowl and smeared another glob of ‘no-grow’ potion over his thighs. “You’re possibly even more stupid and infuriating now than you were then. Some slave you are, don’t know what you’re missing. Can’t even properly respond to a loaded question.”

“I belong to Him, not to you.” Harry countered, finding his voice.

“I’ll tell him you were insolent; he’ll beat you for it.” Pansy threatened.

Harry fought the urge to laugh. “It’s his right.” He replied simply. 

“Loyal, are you? To Draco?” She snorted. “Well here’s a hint: he’s going to use you and throw you away just like he does to everyone else. When he can’t find a use for you anymore, you’ll be discarded. So you might as well take what you can, when you can.”

“Sounds like you know from personal experience,” Harry needled her quietly, never raising his voice.

Pansy gave a small cry of outrage and shoved Harry away from her. He sprawled on the carpet, then rolled away from the kick she aimed at him. A few loosely woven fibers clung to his torso, still moist from the lotions he’d be slathered with. Pansy scowled down at him, and stalked closer, towering over him as he lay on the floor. Finally, she started to laugh lowly. “I don’t know why I’m letting you rile me up, Potter. You’re nothing but a slave. A stupid, lowly, piece of chattel. You’re a nothing.” She tossed her hair and preened. “I was only testing you anyhow. My loyalty to Draco goes deeper than you can imagine. He’ll be happy to have a report of your devotion, but you will, of course, be punished for your impudence. Stupid boy.” She smiled coldly. “Now get off the floor. I’ll have to clean you again.” 

Pansy cleansed Harry with a simple wave of her wand. And though he stepped away from her warily, she approached and pulled him back again, forcing him to kneel at her feet while she roughly manicured his fingers.

"Say," Pansy mused with a smile. "Any chance that Granger-bint is up for the same kind of excitement you've signed up for? I'd love the opportunity to have her in fetters..."


	30. Chapter 30

Pansy continued to describe the litany of things she would do, if she owned Hermione, driving the scowl of disgust on Harry’s face deeper and deeper. She was chattering happily away the entire time she polished Harry’s finger and toenails. When Harry could hardly stand it anymore, he yanked his foot out of her lap and scrambled backward.

“That’s enough!” he growled. “Demean me all you like, but leave my friends out of it.”

“Hit a sore spot, did I?” Pansy grinned and reached for her wand, flicking it to tidy up, and sending everything she’d used that day into her purse. She sclipped the clasps together and settled it onto the floor beside her, then snapped her fingers at Harry. When he didn’t come, she clucked her tongue at him, the way one would call a dog.

Harry ignored Pansy again, and even crawled backward from her a few more paces.

“Well-behaved, my arse!” Pansy swore. “Get over here, Potter!”

Harry’s eyes darted about the room as he tried to determine what it was that he should do with himself.

“Potter…” Pansy warned, leveling her wand at him. “At my feet, now, or suffer the consequences.”

Harry’s lip curled. Draco had been gone for sometime now, and a stroll through the frigid atmosphere of the gardens wasn’t likely to last much longer…he hoped. There was the potential that he could continue to sidestep Pansy's advances for a few more minutes and spare himself the impending humility altogether... It was not until he felt the prickle of magic coil around his neck, that he became aware that he had spent entirely too long contemplating his situation. He veritably choked as Pansy hauled him nearer with some sort of magical lasso or leash, a method of restraint that Draco himself had yet to employ on Harry.

As Pansy pulled, she curled the excess length around her forearm, where it glittered and glinted like jewelry. When Harry had sufficiently neared, she scooted down on the chair and lifted her feet to his shoulders, hitching up her skirt and leering at him devilishly. 

Still panting and trying to catch a breath, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to back away from her again, but his feet only scraped at the carpet uselessly. “But…but…He said…” Harry wheezed.

“I know what Draco said…and it was if you smelled like snatch…he said nothing about you looking at it…” Pansy jiggled the leashed to get Harry’s attention. “So open your eyes and look at me, before I see fit to hex you with ‘Seeing Statue’.

Fear made a cold wave wash down Harry’s spine, and so he canted his head and let his eyelids slit open. He glared at Pansy and clawed at the tight magic encircling his neck.

“No,” Pansy scowled. “Don’t look at me, look at me!” She took a handful of hair and redirected his face downward so that he was staring down the tunnel of her skirt. Maintaining a tight grip on Harry’s restraint with one hand, she stuffed the other past her waist band, well manicured nails toying with the scrap of black lace that covered her before nudging it aside.

Harry’s eyes shut automatically, but a sudden jerk to his neck reminded him to open them again. Pansy began to narrate another fantasy, this one involving Harry. He thought he would be sick, increasingly so as she began to undulate her hips.

The sound of the door latch swinging open caught them both by surprise. Harry used the opportunity to scramble backward, and Pansy’s breech in concentration allowed the magical leash to falter, then disappear completely. Suddenly freed, Harry fell back against the coffee table, his weight pushing it back several inches. He regained enough of himself to scramble forward, and he hurriedly skirted the furniture, drawing up short at Draco’s side. Pansy’s feet smacked the floor audibly, and in an instant, she had righted herself in the chair and straightened her clothing. Save for the flush of her face and neck, she managed to look rather composed in just seconds.

Draco had paused, just inside the door, and was pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, looking pained.

“Draco, love, whatever is the matter?” Pansy purred.

He sighed and allowed his shoulders to droop a moment before pulling up straight. “It’s…nothing.” He waved his hand dismissively. “More news on the engagement front. Wish they’d just leave me out of it altogether. Tell me when and where to show up and call it a day…for all the tradition, this progressive ‘Let’s all involve Draco in the planning-business’ makes me want to kill myself.” He huffed again, and reached to tangle his fingers in Harry’s hair. Then he finally looked at Pansy, and stiffened. “What’s wrong with you?”

Pansy smiled sweetly. “Oh, nothing.” She crossed her legs. “Potter’s been giving me a bit of a rough time, s’all.” She peered pointedly over at Harry, who had his face hidden against Draco’s leg.

“Harry!” Draco sounded surprised as he tightened his grip and hauled his slave to his feet. 

Harry rose gracefully, and tightened his arms around Draco’s waist, trying to bury his face in his Master’s shoulder. But Draco took him by the shoulders and forced him back so that he could look him in the eye. He mistook Harry’s embarrassed and horrified flush for a guilty conscience, and scowled at him. Then, he noticed the angry red bands of skin around Harry’s neck. He turned his frown to Pansy. “What did you do to him?”

She lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “He was uncooperative. I had to restrain him. I’m surprised that you allow that sort of insolence. And he’s got a mouth on him.”

Draco’s eyebrows knitted closer together. “I don’t.” Harry managed to pull from Draco’s grasp and latched tightly onto him again. Draco’s expression softened somewhat, and he tried to pet Harry comfortingly. “Is this because I left you again?”  
Harry nodded into his chest, and Draco sighed heavily. He looked over apologetically at Pansy. “I’m sorry he gave you such a hard time. He hasn’t acted like this since my Father had at him.”

“You shared him with your father?” Pansy leaned forward expectantly, like a child at story-time.

“Unintentionally. I’ve left him alone a number of times since, but never with anyone else.” He eyed the top of Harry’s head, and then pushed at his arms. He was still trapped, just inside the threshold, and Harry’s clinging grip was beginning to drag him off balance. “Harry, down!” He said sternly, and Harry whined, then dropped to his knees beside him. As he crossed to rest on the settee, Harry followed so closely behind that he nearly tripped him up. “Fucking hell, Harry!” Draco swore at him and batted him away with his fingertips. “Give me a centimeter, will you? Merlin!” He flopped down and rubbed his face between his hands again. “Perhaps he doesn’t tolerate grooming well, either. We had an incident the last time as well, but I thought that was because of something else. Maybe I shouldn’t leave him alone anymore.”

“That’s nonsense.” Pansy scowled, failing to garner the desired reaction from Draco. “What he needs is a sound beating. It’s not like you to coddle anyone. Especially not Potter. In fact, you aren’t acting much like yourself at all, lately.”

Draco waved his hand again. “It’s just this engagement. It’s really a strain on me. I’d rather not think on it longer than I have to…Harry, a drink, if you will?”

Harry got to his feet, avoiding Pansy’s gaze, and went to prepare Draco a firewhiskey on ice.

“I’d be happy to do it for you, if you’re not feeling up to the job.” Pansy offered.

Draco lifted his head from his hands. “Er, do what?”

“Put Potter in his place.”

“Ah, no.” Draco licked his lips and accepted the glass that Harry passed to him. “I don’t believe that will be necessary. I will take care of him myself, later.” He inhaled the spicy scent of the beverage deeply, and then took a deep swallow.  
“Draco.” Pansy deadpanned and looked at him.

“Alright, alright!” He snapped to get Harry’s attention, and then pointed with the same hand to Pansy. “Clearly you’ve offended her. Tell Pansy you’re sorry.”

“Sorry?” Pansy scoffed.

At the same moment, Harry gave a definite shake of his head and murmured, “No.”

“Ha!” Pansy jumped up from the chair, pointing down at Harry. “You see that!? Sheer, unabashed, insolence. And the more you let him get away with, the more he’s going to do it!”

Draco’s face was starting to flush with anger, and he glared down at Harry, feeling oddly, betrayed by Harry’s actions. “You’re right.” He said to Pansy. “I’ll get you a paddle.”

As soon as his back was turned, Pansy cast a smug look toward Harry, and he scowled at her.

When Draco returned, he passed her a thin, black paddle. She frowned and flexed it between her hand. “This whippy thing? That’s hardly useful for anything, and certainly not for giving a beating.” She tossed it aside onto the settee and Harry flinched as it neared him. “Forget it.” She said, and lifted her purse from the floor. “I’m certain I have something in here, anyway.” After a moment of scrounging, she drew out a wider, heavier paddle that would look more menacing, if it weren’t pink.

Draco snorted and returned to the sofa and his drink.

“Come on then, Potter.” Pansy grinned. “Over my knees, and I’m going to show you what-for.”

Harry meant go to Pansy, resigned, but his body wouldn’t let him. He shook his head and backed up until he was pinned between the coffee table and Draco’s shins.

“Now is not a time for trying my patience,” Draco warned, nudging Harry from his spot with his feet.

Harry took one look at Pansy, who was fanning herself with her paddle, and had spread her knees again. She stroked her lap. “Potter…”

“No.” Harry said firmly, just once. Then, in disbelief that he had outwardly disagreed again, began a panicked chant of “No,no,no,no,no!” That had not meant to be aimed toward Pansy, but of course was misinterpreted that way. Harry heard Draco slam down his tumbler, the ice rattling against the glass. Then, he felt Draco’s arms slip underneath his, lifting and propelling him forward. He protested this too in a flurry of motion, that ended with Draco, perched on the edge of the coffee table, holding Harry in a sort of headlock. Harry tried to twist in his grip, and was rewarded only with the sensation of being choked.

“Merlin-be-damned!” Draco cussed. “Harry, I’m not certain what’s gotten into you, but it had better stop, and now.”

Harry’s hot breath rebounded off the fabric of Draco’s shirt and he felt a lone nail scratch it’s way across his buttocks. He shivered.

“Stop faffing and get to it already, Pans.” Draco growled.

“My pleasure,” she replied sweetly.

The punishment commenced, and Harry was surprised to find that Pansy was capable of wielding a paddle just as well as any of the men that had beaten him. But, she had a way of swatting that lifted his arse into the air at the tail end of the swing that effectively reinforced the sting entirely. Within minutes, Harry was squirming even though he’d promised he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of it. That seemed to please her, and she told him to keep it up, as she liked a moving target. Harry yelped and dug his arms around Draco when the edge of the paddle clipped his swaying balls. 

Smack. Smack. Smack. The sound was almost as vicious as Pansy’s swing. Her technique was hard and fast, and it drove Harry against Draco’s body. He had resented Draco restraining him at first, but now he was glad to have his arms encircling him. They had loosened when Harry had proved he wouldn’t run anymore, and were now stroking his hair and back in a way that was meant to be comforting. Tears sprang to Harry’s eyes, wetting his cheeks, and the fabric bunched at Draco’s waist. When Draco’s shirt had wicked enough of the wetness that he could feel it against his skin, he raised one hand.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Pansy made a small sound of disappointment, but seemed content to catch her breath for the time being.

Draco continued to stroke Harry’s hair a moment, then lifted his chin. “Tell Pansy you’re sorry, and this will all be over.

Harry tried to swallow the lump is his throat, but it wouldn’t budge, and no sound came out. He wasn’t sure he could tell that sow anything of the sort, anyway. She was a crazy, lying, manipulative bitch and didn’t deserve an apology for something he hadn’t done in the first place.

“Harry….” Draco goaded him, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from his slave’s eyes. Still, Harry was silent. Draco sighed heavily and nodded to Pansy.  
The first blow she gave Harry this round seemed the hardest of them all. He cried out, and then buried his face back against Draco’s thighs, holding his Master tightly and determined not to give in to Pansy’s sadistic side. His arse burned and throbbed, and not in a way that excited him. The nerves tingled and pricked, and he was certainly swollen with welts and bruises. 

“Stop.” Draco finally said. It seemed like an eternity since the first time he’d bade Pansy to cease, though it had only been minutes. Harry’s first hitching sob was quite disconcerting, and he’d vowed not to punish his slave to this point again, unless he’d done something grave to deserve it.

“Now I see why you keep him around,” Pansy breathed, shoveling a stray lock of hair from her face. “He is rather fun to beat about, isn’t he?”

Draco gave her a dark look, but otherwise ignored her statement. “Harry…are you ready to tell her?” Please, He willed him. I’m not certain how much more of this I can take.

“I-I-I,” Harry stammered through his tears. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Master please, I’m sorry…” And Harry was sorry, for disappointing him, for disgracing him, for forcing this situation. But he would never regret his actions toward Pansy Parkinson.

“There.” Draco eyed Pansy. “Satisfied?”

“No…” Pansy wielded her pink paddle again. “He didn’t say ‘Mistress Pansy’. I want to hear it.”

“Give it up, Pansy.” Draco sighed wearily and pulled Harry more tightly against him. “You got your beating and your apology. And now I’m not certain I’m in the mood to continue entertaining. We’ll have to carry on with your visit another time.”

Pansy looked shocked. “Draco Malfoy, are you throwing me out?”

“No,” Draco said blandly. “Although I will if you don’t take the hint.”

With a huff, Pansy flounced to her feet, cramming her well-used paddle into her bag. Then she pursed her lips and perched an elbow on one hip. “Shall I expect payment for my services, or was this a favor between friends?”

Draco scowled and lowered Harry to the floor where he curled on himself, hands coming over his head. Then Draco crossed to a bureau, and removed an embroidered silk pouch. He took out enough galleons and sickles to cover the expense, and included a hefty tip. He counted the amount into her outstretched palm while her eyes glittered. “For your discretion.” He added, looking at her so pointedly, that even Pansy became slightly unnerved. 

She swallowed and nodded. “Of course. What do you take me for?” 

“Do lock the door on your way out,” Draco prompted, returning to the settee and reaching down again to draw Harry into his lap. His refusal to meet Pansy’s gaze again was what finally drew her out. She pulled the door firmly shut behind her, and there was the sound of locks being shut, magically. Draco drew his own wand and added the additional wards. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed back against the cushions and petted Harry until they had both sufficiently calmed. “Why didn’t you just say you were sorry after the first go-round?” He murmured, stroking Harry’s hair. I never said you had to mean it, only that you had to say it. Even you can’t be that stupid, Harry…”

“I hate her,” came Harry’s whispered response.

“Well, you can’t expect to be subordinate only to those you like!” Draco suddenly snapped. “Consider your position. Consider my position for Merlin’s sake!” He jammed his fingers against his temples and began to rub slow circles.

“I…” Harry said, and then frowned. His master looked as though he were on the verge of a meltdown. He’d seen that pose many mornings across the Great Hall at breakfast, and suffered too many run-ins with a miserable Malfoy in subsequent afternoons that even he’d been able to identify the pattern of behavior while still at Hogwarts. Now would not be a good time to explain himself. Draco was likely not to listen completely at any rate, and might take his response as further insubordination. Harry bit his lip, then gave a deep sigh of resignation. “I’m sorry, Master.” He nuzzled his face into Draco’s neck in hopes that a bit of affection would put him back in his Master’s good graces.

Draco stopped rubbing his temples and wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, breathing into his ear, “Do you hate me too?”

Harry’s fingers toyed with the top button of Draco’s collar, wishing it were open so that he could slip his fingers inside and feel more warm skin. But wishes were like Nargles- you could dwell on as many of them as you liked, but it didn’t make them any more real. He shook his head minutely. “No, I don’t hate you.”


	31. Chapter 31

The days grew shorter, and Harry began to see less of Draco as more social interactions were required of him. Harry knew Draco wasn’t happy about his betrothal to Astoria Greengrass, but was impressed by the diligence with which he committed to familial obligations and expectations. But then, Harry himself was all too familiar with being committed to tasks which he hadn’t asked for involvement with.

 

Draco had met Astoria for lunch or supper in Hogsmeade a few times since, and there had been an informal dinner of sorts so that the two families could meet and discuss pending arrangements for a formal engagement party. It was a ritzy, high-class affair to be held in the Malfoy Ballroom, because although the Greengrass Family was wealthy, their estate didn’t have the same sprawling opulence of The Manor.

 

Each time Draco returned from a meeting with Astoria (he refused to call them dates), he smelled of sugar cookies, although his demeanor was more like sour pickles. Earlier in the week, Draco had scrounged through his armoire for his dress robes, and taken them to The Manor to be properly cleaned and pressed by the house-elves, who were the only unpaid servants on the property to possess any magical abilities. 

 

Earlier that morning, they’d been delivered; sealed for protection against damage and dirt by magic. The hanger had sizzled and crackled when Harry took the robes from Lolly, and hung them up on the dressing screen. Draco had been in a foul mood since then, alternately laying on the settee with his forearm flung over his eyes, and hovering over a steaming teacup, rubbing his temples, cursing the day he was born and ruing the fact that his mother had forbidden him a single drink before the evening affair was to begin.

 

“How’s a wizard supposed to take the edge off when he can’t even have a sip of blasted whiskey?” He was grumbling to himself.

 

When Draco was like this, it was difficult for Harry to find something to occupy himself with. By nature, he wanted to be able to provide some level of comfort, but his Master was not the sort who allowed comforting measures to be given. It seemed that he would rather stew and steam and make everyone around him miserable to boot. 

 

Harry had been pacing back and forth in the Carriage House, looking for something to occupy himself with. He paused just behind the settee and softly quested so as not to startle: “Can I bring you something to eat, my Master?”

 

“No…” Draco drawled, swirling his tea in the cup, then peering over the rim, although there were no tea-leaves within to be read.

 

“Something else to drink, perhaps?”

 

There was a thoughtful pause, followed by a scowl. “No…”

 

“How about a draught or tonic?” Harry continued to offer things because Draco’s anxiety was making him nervous too.

 

“No, nothing of the sort. Salazar! Can’t you find something to do with yourself?” Draco shoved the cup away and began to rub his face with his hands again.

 

Harry bit his lip and fell silent. There wasn’t anything he could find to do with himself. It was cold outside, and the window boxes had been devoid of the sort of life that needed tending for months. The house was clean, and as tidy as the crowded space would allow. And with nothing to prepare, there wasn’t anything for him to do. And so, he stood there, looking down at the taut muscles of Draco’s neck and back, bunched beneath the expensive clothes he wore. But there was something that he could do, if only Draco would allow him. He spent a moment contemplating the potential results of his actions. If he offered the service would Draco refuse him? If he just went for it, would he be punished? Finally, Harry reached his hands toward his Master. When his fingertips grazed Draco’s shoulders, Draco flinched and hunched away.

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

Harry leaned further over the back of the sofa, digging his fingers into Draco’s tense flesh, even as Draco continued to protest.

 

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me! I say, hands off, before I—oh. Oh.” Draco straightened and allowed Harry to rub his back and shoulders. “I wasn’t aware that you…hmmmm…rather good at that…”

 

Although pleased that he hadn’t been rebuffed, Harry was plagued with the sudden urge to climb over the back of the sofa, settle down behind Draco, and pull him in close. There was too much pain there for something that was supposed to be a joyous occasion. An event that was supposed to herald in the start of something new, something bigger, grander. But that would be stepping way too far over a line that was not to be crossed. Harry’s purpose was for simpler things. Instead, he continued to work his thumbs and knuckles into Draco’s slowly loosening muscles.

 

“Bugger me,” Draco groaned. “Had I known you had any talent for this sort of thing…I’d have…mmm, right there…oh, months ago…”

 

Harry couldn’t help but grin to himself. It was always nice to be appreciated. He massaged the spot in between Draco’s shoulder blades again, and felt Draco lean his weight into his fingers. “You know,” He prompted. “I could do it better if you would take this sweater off...” Harry pinched a bit of the fabric and gave it a tug before resuming his task. “That is, if you wanted to of course, Master.”

 

After a moment’s contemplation, Draco unbuttoned his shirt collar, and then pulled it up and over his head, taking the sweater along with it. He draped the material over the arm of the settee, toed off his shoes, and then turned onto his stomach, his body filling the length of the sofa with his feet dangling off the edge. “Well, come on then, don’t just stand there…” He finally prompted Harry, who was just short of an open-mouthed stare.

 

Harry came around the couch and awkwardly bent over Draco, trying to resume the massage. Then he tried to kneel beside him, but that wasn’t going to work either.

 

“Harry…” Draco murmured and flexed his shoulders backward. 

 

“Okay.” Harry said softly to himself. “Alright. I didn’t realize you were going to…alright.” He got up from his knees and slowly positioned himself behind Draco on the settee, cramming one knee into the cushions so that he could straddle him properly. “Sorry, I have to…”

 

When Harry was finally settled, just beyond the swell of his Master’s arse, he lowered his hands to warm, pale skin. He couldn’t help but run his hands lightly from the curve of Draco’s hips up to his shoulders before starting: It was rare that he was given such free access to touch, and aside from the few baths Draco had requested, couldn’t remember another time when his hands were allowed to roam like this. He slid his hands back down, fingers trailing over each rib bone and thumbs pressing deep into the tissue on either side of Draco’s spine. Draco arched into Harry’s hands and he gave a satisfied, breathy moan that made Harry’s cock twitch in his pants.

 

 

 

“Mmmmm, tell’em to piss off…” Draco grumbled at the gong-ing sound that announced someone’s presence on his doorstep.

 

Harry slid reluctantly from his position and went to the door. “It’s Master Blaise,” He announced. Alexei was there too, grinning from behind his Master.

 

Blaise didn’t wait for the formalin invitation in. His hand gave the back of Harry’s neck an affectionate squeeze as he passed, and moved toward Draco.

 

“Bugger me! You’re not ready yet?” Blaise said with exasperation as he eyed Draco’s prone form on the sofa.

 

Draco made a protesting sound and curled one arm over his head. “Don’t you know when to piss off?”

 

“Not even dressed, are you daft? Your mother’s going to serve your bollocks for dinner!” He grabbed Draco by the arm and hauled him up.

 

“Fuck, Zabini…You’re going to bruise me!” Draco said and flustered his hands away. “You needn’t be so rough. What the hell time is it, anyway?”

 

“Half-past.”

“Six?!” Draco exclaimed. When Blaise nodded, he groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Harry! You’re killing me….fetch my robes, and get the good dress-shirt!”

 

Blaise helped Draco shrug into his clothes and gave him one last critical once-over. “Hope you don’t mind,” He said as he pulled Draco toward the door. “I brought Lexi, thought he could keep Harry company.”

 

“Fine, fine…” Draco nodded, then began patting his robes as though he were looking for something. “Where’s my—” He began, and bit off the tail end of his sentence as Harry handed over a silver flask bearing highly stylized, engraved “DM” on one surface. “Thanks.” His smiled grimly and tucked it into his breast pocket. “Not going to make it through tonight without it.”

 

Blaise rolled his eyes, gave a wave to the slaves, and pulled Draco out the door. “Of all things…you should be happy for this day. You’re supposed to be celebrating the beginning of your adult life with your friends and future wife…” As Draco scowled, Blaise pulled his own flask from his robes and passed it over. “Here.”

 

“Mum will strangle me if I show up with firewhiskey on my breath…” Draco protested, tilting the flask back toward Blaise. 

 

“And that is exactly why is isn’t firewhiskey.” Blaise said, hurrying Draco across the lawn. He pulled them up short behind one of the high hedges, grabbed the flask back, unscrewed the lid and took a swig before offering it back to Draco, who sniffed it cautiously, and made a curious face. “Peppermint Schnapps. Dreadful Muggle liqueur, but it’ll settle your stomach and you won’t need a freshening charm all night…”

 

“Bloody brilliant,” Draco mumbled around the mouth of the flask just before taking a pull. He made a face, but took another one, and passed it back. “You’re a life saver, Blaise Zabini.”

 

“Don’t I know it…”

 

 

 

Not more than a moment passed after Draco greeted the Greengrass family than did Astoria transfer her grip on her father’s arm to Draco’s. “You look so handsome in your dress robes!” She practically squealed.

 

Even Lucius barely concealed a wince, but Draco nodded, smiled, and managed, “You look lovely in yours as well.”

 

As the night wore on, Astoria only became more of a chatterbox, although it was more tolerable, the less sober Draco became. Draco had had to start from scratch, twice already, because Blaise, damn him, had snuck up behind him and administered sobering charms on two different occasions. “You’ll thank me in the morning.” He’d promised. Draco could only roll his eyes. If Blaise had any inkling of how annoying Astoria Greengrass could be, then he’d be setting up residence behind the bar as well.

 

After several highly formal and stuffy dances (dances which Draco had always hated but excelled at due to his natural grace), and making small talk with all of their guests, Astoria tugged at his elbow. “That’s the last one!” She whispered in his ear when he leaned toward her. “Will you escort me outside and show me the gardens that your mother has been bragging about all night? I could use some fresh air!”

 

“Gladly.” Draco replied. And for once, he wasn’t just going along with whatever she said to appease her. Draco purloined a fresh drink straight from his father’s own hand as he turned from a passing waiter with an empty tray. Lucius opened his mouth to argue, but Draco only grinned, raised it in a silent salute, and let Astoria drag him into the crowd of people.

 

As soon as they were free from the confines of the ballroom, together, they stole down the stairwell. “My mother is going to kill me when she’s realized we’ve gone,” Draco stated, looking behind him to make sure they weren’t being followed.

 

“Shhhhh!” Astoria hissed, then giggled.

 

Draco couldn’t help but laugh at her. She had been sipping on cherry cordials all night, and was probably just as arsed as he was. Nevertheless, even Daphne and Pansy were capable of swilling firewhiskey with the boys of Slytherin, and it made Draco wonder how a few years between them could make such a difference in personalities. 

 

They snuck out one of the side doors, and as soon as the cool night air hit them, Astoria sucked in a gulping breath, then exhaled, spinning in a circle. “Ah, its beautiful!” She exclaimed, then kicked off her shoes.

 

“Tori!” Draco hissed incredulously and went after them. “Have you gone mad? It’s mid-November!”

 

She ignored him, and was busy hauling her dress-robes over her head. When she got them off, she draped them over a nearby bush, and then posed dramatically with one hand on her hip. Beneath her robes, she wore a pretty, cornsilk-blue number that offset her eyes. “What do you think?” She purred, and did a little twirl, throwing the soft folds of her just-above-the-knee length skirt into the air.

 

“I think you’re going to freeze to death!” Draco replied as he went to her, trying to encourage the silly girl back into her shoes and robes.

 

“I’m hot!” She said with a pout and picked them out of his hands, throwing them on the ground beside them. “And those shoes hurt my feet!” She pulled him close and fingered the velvet edges on Draco’s lapel. “Don’t you ever want to be free sometimes?”

“Do I ever…” Draco conceded.

 

“Besides,” Astoria went on, as was her way. “I’ve got you to keep me warm…a big, strong wizard like yourself wouldn’t let anything happen to me, right?” She ran her palms up his biceps and gave him a winning smile while batting her eyes.

 

“Er, right.” Draco said, tipping his head back and inhaling some of the crisp air himself. He felt himself sway drunkenly. Or maybe that was Astoria swaying and taking him with her. Either way…they should move before the ground came up to meet them. “Come on.” Draco took Astoria by the hand. She wrapped her other hand around his fist and let him pull her deeper into the gardens. Though they were not at their height of beauty, they were still a wonder with the less-vibrant, winter-blooming flowers that included hellebores, wintersweet, and viburnum dawn.

 

“Mmmm,” Tori sighed, pausing to smell the sweet scent that drifted through the air. “Now this, this is romantic…”

 

Romantic? Well hell, that wasn’t what Draco had been going for. An escape was all he’d had in mind. “Is it?” He questioned innocently.

 

She pulled him toward a bench among the trees. “Let’s sit for awhile!” She said, but then stood, looking between the bench seat, which was sporting a few dried and fallen leaves, and Draco, who was bewildered a moment.

 

“Oh.” He said softly, and brushed the leaves off with his hand.

 

“Aren’t you warm?” Astoria said expectantly.

 

“Oh.” Draco said again, starting to feel a bit irritated again. He took down the fastenings of his robe, and then spread it widely over the bench. Astoria took his hand and seated herself gracefully, and then tugged Draco down unceremoniously beside her. Her eyes raked over him several times, but he seemed not to notice. Instead, he was staring up at the stars, mapping the constellations.

 

“Did you take Astronomy?” he questioned absently.

 

“Since first year.” Astoria replied with a huff of annoyance.

 

“Right…” Draco had the decency to flush, although some of it was from the drink.

 

There was a period of silence between them, and Draco cherished it so much, that he even allowed Astoria to snuggle closer to him and rest her head on his chest. A few stray strands of her hair that somehow missed the lacquer, tickled his nose, but he didn’t even let that bother him. He rested his arm around her shoulders, in case she was chilled.

 

After sometime, Astoria sighed, and Draco looked down at her. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?” She asked, pouting.

 

Draco was somewhat taken aback. “Why, of course I do! You’re quite lovely, and I believe I said so the first I saw you this evening!” he managed without too much of an incredulous stammer.

 

“Why don’t you kiss me then?” She questioned with her forward nature. 

 

Draco suddenly felt hot about the collar. “I…you….What would your father say?” He tried to put a negative spin on the idea. “He’d want me to be a gentleman with his youngest daughter!”

 

“Oh, please.” Astoria snorted. Snorted! “We’re betrothed. It’s not like it isn’t expected. Daphne was born six months after their wedding!”

 

“I wouldn’t disrespect you like that…” Draco said, fumbling for words.

 

“Disrespect?!” Astoria practically screeched. “Please tell me you’re not planning on waiting two whole years before you so much as let your lips graze mine…oh, Merlin!” She raised her eyes to the heavens. “I will die…I will absolutely die…”

 

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it, Sweets?” Internally, Draco cringed at having come up with such a silly pet name. Still, he lifted her hands and kissed the top of each one in turn.

 

“I am going to be your wife!” Astoria insisted, jerking her hands from his and grasping the pointed ends of his shirt collar, pulling him close. “I’m not asking for a scandalous romp in your mother’s garden-although if you were less of a tight-arse I’d certainly be game…just kiss me…Draco….please? If you care for me at all?”

 

The problem was, Draco didn’t care for her at all. But how could he let on at that? Astoria somehow had the silly notion in her head that they were going to fall madly in love and would be pawing at each other all the time. Didn’t she realize his intentions were infinitely less grand than that? He’d be lucky if he could find the balance between getting drunk enough to consider sleeping with her, and still managing to keep his dick hard, enough times to sire a child. “I….” he trailed. There was nothing he could say at this point.

 

It didn’t matter. Astoria clambered half into his lap and fastened her mouth over his. She tasted of cherry-tonics, the way potions were flavored for small children who wouldn’t take them otherwise. Draco’s fingers curled around her shoulders and he pushed her back. “What’re you…? “ he breathed.

 

“Kiss me,” She whispered, kissing his jaw. “Kiss me…kiss me…kiss me... kiss me.” In between her quiet please, she attacked his neck and face with her lips, doing all that was in her power to coax him into it.

 

She was right. There was no way he could expect her to wait two years for a measly bit of affection. And if he started now, maybe he could build up a tolerance to her. Yes, she was a Slytherin, through and through…He fumbled in the spread robes for his flask, and sucked down the remainder of the liquid courage contained within. To her credit, Astoria seemed not to notice. And then he turned his face toward her and let her suck his bottom lip between hers. And fuck, if this snog hadn’t taken all of his concentration and efforts just to keep himself a minimally-acting participant on the bench, he might have noticed that they weren’t alone in the garden at all.

 

Instead, he was busy imagining himself sprawled like this on the settee back in the Carriage House with Harry…Harry, who wasn’t all round curves, and soft lips, and floral scented, and cherry-flavored. Harry, who was sharp angles, and lithe-muscled…full-mouthed, but kissed with nips and bites and tongue and teeth. Who smelled and tasted of sweat and spice and soap. Who had a way of panting and writhing and putting his body on display to subtly encourage what he wanted, instead of outright demanding it…Oh, Harry.


	32. Chapter 32

“Some friend you are!” Draco accused with a glare as he snatched the proffered flask Blaise’s outstretched hand. He wavered on his feet as the momentum of his swinging arm carried him off balance.

 

“Gesu, Draco!” Blaise rolled his eyes and rushed nearer, grabbing onto Draco’s forearm and righting him. “That is utter shite, and you know it.”

 

Draco swigged from the flask, and then immediately turned and spat the contents onto the lawn. He thrust the flask back at Blaise. “You’re going to have to ply me with more than that vile Muggle beverage if you expect me to forgive you for your extreme lapse in judgment…”

 

“My lapse in judgment? Drake, I’m not the one who snuck out of his own party to suck the face off my barely-of-age-fiance!”

 

Draco stopped dead in his tracks and leveled the dirtiest look in his arsenal at Blaise. “I have told you before not to call me by that ghastly nickname. Furthermore!” He swayed and staggered backward a pace as he raised a finger to point. “Furthermore, you… You, of all the people here should know that I…me!” He pointed then to himself, several times for emphasis. “Draco Malfoy has absolutely zero interest in intimate relations…” he hiccupped. “Of any kind with people whose bits are inside out!”

 

Blaise seemed to find the tirade entirely amusing, but moved closer, placing his hand over Draco’s mouth. “Will you shut it, you rat-arsed fool? There are still plenty of guests milling about.”

 

Draco gnashed his teeth and Blaise jerked his hand away just in time to avoid a nasty bite. “You think I give two blast-ended-skrewts about these wizards?” He waved his hand widely and turned, then promptly fell backward, landing hard on his ass. He was quiet a moment, and sat still. When Blaise stuck his hand down to help him up, Draco slapped it away. “Give me a drink. And not that poison from before. I want a firewhiskey!”

 

“I think you’ve had enough whiskey for the both of us this evening, twice over, Draco.” Blaise sighed. “And you’re being a right bastard, too. When the hell are you going to grow up?”

 

“Maybe when people stop treating me as if I’m a child!” Draco snapped. “You think I needed to be pulled aside and chastised by my father after we’d returned to The Manor? You think I didn’t realize what I allowed myself to be suckered into, after Daphne caught us in the gardens? You think I wanted to be there in the first place? I went out for a bit of fresh air…I had no idea that Astoria was going to throw herself at me like that and make such a pity-case out of the whole ordeal that made me feel like I was emotionally and physically neglecting my…my…” he grimaced. “My fiancé.”

“If it makes you feel any better, she was spoken to as well, so it isn’t as though you were the only one to carry the blame for your…lapse in decorum, as your mother so delicately put it.” Blaise hitched up his robes and crouched down, beginning to settle beside Draco on the cold, damp lawn.

 

“I hate her.” Draco scowled and tore up a handful of grass, knowing it would make his mother absolutely livid if she caught him.

 

“You do not hate her.” Blaise said, prying the brittle blades from Draco’s hand and stuffing them back into place.

 

“I do.” Draco insisted. “She’s a manipulative, randy little munter, and she’s going to be the death of me.”

 

Blaise laughed softly. “Draco, Astoria is a beautiful, young, Slytherin woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. You ought to consider yourself lucky.”

 

“Lucky.” Draco snorted. “I’ll be lucky to catch another nip or two and pass out before something else comes along to bite me in the arse…”

 

“You’re for bed, then?” Blaise shot him a sidelong look.

 

Draco didn’t seem to notice. “Yes. After another drink.”

 

Blaise ignored him and got to his feet, holding out a hand to pull Draco up. Then he tugged him toward The Manor.

 

Draco wrenched his arm away from Blaise and turned in the other direction. “I’m not going back there.”

 

“Your mother asked you to stay over tonight.”

 

“I know what she wants, and I don’t care. I’m sleeping in my own damned bed in my own damned place.”

 

“Very well.” Blaise sighed. “You’re always so obstinate…”

 

“I am not.” Draco said simply. 

 

When they reached the Carriage House, Blaise helped Draco steady his wand long enough to undo the wards and locks to get them inside. Despite the low, blue glow from a singly lit lantern, Draco still managed to bump into a trunk, and he swore loudly. Blaise did his best to shush him, and tried to steer him away from the living area, where the boys had rearranged the furniture and were sleeping, curled together on the floor.

 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Blaise said lowly, and began to unfasten Draco’s dress robes.

 

“I am not going to bed with you!” Draco insisted, shoving Blaise’s hands away and fumbling with the clasps himself. “You can transfigure the sofa, for all I care.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Blaise replied with a tired tone.

 

“Harry!” Draco yelled.

 

Blaise flinched. “Why don’t you let him alone? They’re already asleep…”

 

Draco passed him another look, and called again. 

 

Within a few moments, Harry appeared at the other side of the dressing screen, his hair sticking up and his eyelids heavy. He looked as though he were trying not to rub his eyes too much, with probable hopes of completing his task and returning to bed. “Yes, Master?”

 

A final haughty smirk sent Blaise retreating a few paces, though he stayed on to watch as Harry helped Draco out of his clothes.

 

“Sorry for that…” Blaise made a show of apologizing to Harry as he went to work. “I sobered him twice already, and you know the saying…Three times a charm….” The full statement was “Three times a charm, does more harm.” Boy, had the Muggles ever managed to bollix up that saying, they thought ‘three times a charm’ meant good things would happen. If they only knew the colloquialism was a warning that magic tended to backfire if you used it thrice in a row, and for the same purpose, on the same person, they might stop jinxing themselves by saying it. Blaise shook his head to himself. Oddly, he had a brief moment’s thought on that very thing, each time he said that particular colloquial expression.

 

Harry just nodded, and struggled to pull Draco’s arms out of his shirt sleeves. Draco thought he was being helpful, but if he could see himself and the strange movements he was contorting his body into, he’d know otherwise.

 

“Get me a drink.” Draco demanded as Harry settled his Master under the sheets. 

 

Harry disappeared into the “kitchen” and Blaise turned to the toilet room. They met again at Draco’s bedside, Harry with a glass of water, because even he could read between the lines this late at night. Blaise was laying out a series of headache tonics, stomach calming draughts, and mood-lighteners on Draco’s bedside table.

 

Draco refused the water while Blaise was watching, but as soon as he’d gone around the other side of the screen, he took it back from Harry and swallowed it down, then fell back against the pillows. “Come to bed,” he murmured, eyes closing and blinking back open slowly. Harry set the empty glass aside, then drew off the clothes he’d fallen asleep in. Draco watched him with interest, although his eyes were glazed with too much drink. Before Harry could climb onto the bottom of the bed, Draco shifted backward and lifted the blankets, creating a space for Harry there.

 

As Harry slid into place, Draco pulled him closer and ran his hands over his slave. “Just want you,” he murmured to himself, before attacking Harry’s mouth with his own. “Wanted this all night,” He confessed, sliding his hands into Harry’s hair and delivering one sloppy kiss after another. Slowly, his ardor faded, and his head slid down onto Harry’s chest. His thumb toyed across Harry’s nipple several times before falling still. The even keel of his breathing told Harry that his Master had fallen asleep.

 

 

Despite Harry’s full and aching bladder, he laid in bed, because Draco had grabbed firm hold of him, and wouldn’t let him go. He could hear Alexei and Blaise waking and getting around by themselves just beyond the screen. After some time, there was a pecking at the window, followed by a muffled hoot, and then a short blast of chilly air as someone opened the window to let the owl in.

 

Not very much long after, Blaise appeared beyond the screen. He looked down at the unopened letter in his hand, and then over at Draco. He quirked a brow at Harry when he found him staring back.

 

“I’ve never known him to lie in bed so long,” Harry whispered, rolling his eyes to the side and trying to see his Master behind him.

 

“Just nursing a hangover, aren’t you, Drake?” Blaise crossed to them and drew back the blankets a bit, leaving Draco to curse and fuss. “Take this,” He uncorked the first phial and pushed a headache-potion to into Draco’s hand.

 

Draco swallowed it down obediently and then cocked his hand back to throw the glass tube. Blaise pried it from his fingers and set it on the tabletop, then offered the second phial, and finally the third.

 

Harry had finally been able to slip away to relieve himself, and when he returned, found Draco sitting up in bed, scowling at a bit of parchment between his hands. “Brunch? Really?. And just when I was starting to feel better…”

 

“You’d better get a move-on,” Blaise advised, casting a Tempus. Your mother likely won’t be too impressed with you if you’re late, especially after last night.”

 

Draco paused in sliding from between the sheets to give Blaise a dirty look. “When have you ever known me to be late for anything?”

 

“I haven’t known you to skulk about in bed all day with your slaves, either, but that hasn’t stopped you from doing it….”

 

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Draco growled, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck a moment, then stepping toward the armoire. He pulled open the doors and began to examine the contents.

 

 

If Draco had been in a foul mood when he left for brunch, he was absolutely abysmal when he returned. He slammed the door so hard that it rattled on it’s hinges and vibrated the frames on the walls.

 

“Master?” Harry emerged from the bathroom where he’d indulged in a quick shower, still wrapped in a towel. His expressive face was awash with concern.

 

Draco paused and assessed him with a swift flick of his eyes. “Drop the towel.” He said coldly.

 

The thick terrycloth fell to the floor and Harry’s breath caught in his throat at the predatory look that followed.

 

Draco stalked closer and grabbed Harry by the upper arm, pulling him toward the bed. Harry scrambled up onto the mattress and lifted his hands over his head to facilitate Draco’s rough movements. Several flicks of his wand and a murmured incantation had Harry’s wrists bound in no time.

 

“Think she’s clever, does she?” Draco grumbled to himself as he hauled his sweater over his head and threw it onto the floor. “Have the wedding moved up, will she?” he unfastened the buttons on his dress shirt with haste. “Bloody manipulative bint can’t keep it in her pants…can’t wait to sink her claws into me…” He slung his shirt after the sweater and started on his trousers.

 

Harry could only watch with growing arousal as Draco disrobed, continuing to gripe about Astoria. From what he could gather, she had somehow caused their wedding date to be moved up, and his Master, for whatever reason, was not pleased. 

 

“Strip away the little time I have left…” He muttered, clambering ungracefully onto the mattress and hovering over Harry. “Doesn’t know what she’s in for, does she?” He looked pointedly at Harry, who shook his head minutely, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Draco looked absolutely feral as he took Harry’s jaw between his finger and thumb and angled his face upward. His kiss was brutal, and left Harry feeling bruised and breathless. Draco tasted sweetly of fruit, with the after bitterness of champagne, and left Harry to wonder if he was drunk again.

 

Harry’s cock was hard, and slick with pre-come. It slid neatly back and forth against the cleft of Draco’s arse, with not nearly enough friction. He couldn’t help but lift his hips, seeking a firmer touch as Draco ravaged his mouth, pinched and twisted his nipples, and raked his fingernails up Harry’s ribs.

 

Draco lifted his face and scrubbed his arm across his mouth, eyeing Harry intently. “Harry.” There was a hint of something not quite desperation in his voice. A hunger burned inside of him, and he ground down against his slave’s shaft, drawing forth a low moan. He scrambled backward and fumbled for his wand, casting the spell that would prevent Harry from having an orgasm. Then he drew a pot of lubricant from the bedside table, and let his hand trail behind himself. 

 

Harry’s mouth fell open slightly and his eyes widened as he watched his Master finger himself with one hand and stroke his own cock with the other.

 

“Fuck, I need this…” Draco swore, pumping the remaining lube over Harry’s straining erection, then positioning his hips over Harry’s. He lowered himself with slow determination, each rock of his hips drawing another shallow gasp from his slave. “Shit,” Draco breathed, letting himself rest a moment when Harry was fully buried inside of him. He could feel his poorly prepared muscles clench as they adjusted to the girth of Harry’s cock.

 

“Look at me,” Draco commanded with a husky voice, and pitched his hips back and forth slowly.

 

Harry pulled at his bonds and arched his body upward, fighting to keep his eyes open and on his Master, who was working himself slowly. He could feel the hot, slick tunnel of his Master’s arse rippling around him, stroking him, teasing him through the magical buffer that wrapped his cock and prevented release.

 

“Fuck, that’s the way!” Draco groaned, suddenly stiffening. He fisted his own length a few times, then increased the tempo of his hips, riding Harry more quickly. His eyes fluttered shut and he moistened his parted lips, alternating his free hand between fondling his balls, and twisting a nipple ferociously. With a stifled cry, Draco pumped his release over Harry’s belly and chest.

 

“Merlin,” Harry breathed, his hips bucking up of their own accord. His senses may have been dulled, but they weren’t gone altogether.

 

“Salazar!” Draco groaned in response. His eyes came open a few moments later, and he dipped his fingers into the spunk that speckled Harry’s chest. He offered his fingers to Harry, who opened his mouth obediently, and laved the salty fluid from his Master’s fingers. When Harry’s torso was clean, Draco rocked back on his length again.

 

“Oh, please…” Harry whispered, and pressed up into him.

 

“You want to fuck me?” Draco responded, eyeing Harry intently and letting his wet fingers ghost over Harry’s lips again.

 

Harry licked at them. “Yes!” he admitted, bucking to demonstrate his enthusiasm.

 

“I think I want you to fuck me,” Draco confessed.

 

“Please, Master, let me serve you!” Harry begged.

 

“Service me?” The corners of Draco’s lips quirked upward and he leaned for his wand again, releasing Harry’s wrist fetters one at a time.

 

Harry grabbed Draco’s hips tightly and thrust awkwardly upward. 

 

Draco groaned softly and shook his head. “More, I need more.” He lifted himself off and rolled sideways, grabbing for Harry to shift him on top. “The spell…” he whispered, running a finger down Harry’s length and thumbing the slit repeatedly until Harry’s hips bucked forward again, hard. “You can come, with the spell, if your needs exceed it’s limitations…”

 

Harry sucked in a breath and held it. Was that a warning, or permission? “I won’t come until you tell me to,” Harry promised, his eyes glazed with lust.

 

“You’ll come…” Draco said, lifting his hips and shifting to grant Harry access to his hole again. “If you fuck me hard enough. Think you can handle that?”

 

“Yes, Master!” Harry moaned as he pushed into the sucking heat once more. Draco gripped his arse cheeks and pulled him down hard. Harry didn’t need much more encouragement than that. He soon built up to a pounding rhythm that had his Master flexing and whining beneath him, raking fingernails over his back and sinking teeth into his shoulder and collarbone.

 

“Sh-should I s-stop?” Harry gasped, afraid he was hurting him.

 

“Don’t you dare!” came the growled response.

 

With the binding spell, orgasm built slowly for Harry. Nevertheless, he could feel the warmth, spreading through his belly, slowly tightening the muscles in his thighs. Draco had already shot his second load between them, sometime ago, and their bodies were slapping together, sticky come webbing between them as it dried. Harry was panting and gasping from his efforts, sweat rolling down between his shoulders and pooling in the shallow portion of his back, making Draco’s legs, which were wrapped loosely there, slip against his skin. “Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!” Harry breathed, his eyes screwed shut as he pumped his hips, mantra eventually fading to a pleading, needy keen.

 

“Fuck, Harry, come on!” Draco whispered heatedly, tearing at a handful of Harry’s hair and forcing his head up. He pressed their mouths together and sucked at his tongue.

 

With a final burst of reserved energy, Harry pistoned his hips for all that he was worth, dragging a hitching cry from Draco. He felt the magic of the spell crackle and weaken; his balls twitched and tightened, drawing up as they gathered their load. His ejaculate shot forcefully into the hot, loosened tunnel of flesh that sheathed him, and Harry sobbed with relief as he collapsed his weight on top of Draco.

 

“Fuck….fuck….” Draco whispered, leaving his arms and legs loosely wrapped about his slave. “I think I’ve died…are you dead?”

 

Harry grunted his exhausted assent, and let Draco pull his face over and kiss his cheek, then smooth down his damp hair. The two of them shifted in opposite directions, uncoupling them, though neither had the energy to move fully apart. Despite the bright, clear mid-afternoon sun streaming between the curtains, they dozed, sticky and spent, and curled around one another.

 

Draco’s unplanned recourse had worked: he’d successfully managed to drive every thought of the manipulative and clever Astoria Greengrass from every recess of his mind, and the last traces of her touch had long gone from every pore of his body.


	33. Chapter 33

Astoria did not lack the sort of gumption that Draco did in regards to telling her parents how she felt about any situation, at any given time. It wasn’t that she was rude and disrespectful; more-so that what Blaise Zabini had said about her was true: She was a strong Slytherin woman, who knew what she wanted, and wasn’t afraid to go after it. Behind that playful and idiotic façade was a woman whose manipulative prowess was highly skilled. 

 

She had not taken kindly to the fact that her own sister had turned her over to their parents for what Tori herself considered to be an innocent kiss, especially when Daphne and Theo had been fucking for months. That it was the first kiss she had truly shared with Draco after many meetings mate her even angrier. Astoria’s revenge was to inform her parents that under no circumstances did either of them plan on waiting two years to become intimate with one another, and if they were concerned about being dishonored by an accidental pregnancy, then they would allow Draco and Astoria to be married sooner. 

 

Shocked and somewhat annoyed by their youngest daughter’s demands, they had made an extreme effort to dissuade her. Especially since the formal engagement announcements had already hit The Daily Prophet, and indicated their intentions for a “lengthy betrothal”. In the end, Astoria agreed to a joint wedding with Daphne and Theo; she did not let on that the idea appealed to her for several reasons, not withstanding: She considered herself more attractive than Daphne, and paired with Draco, they were certain to be the more popular couple. Not only that, but the Greengrass/Nott affair was scheduled to go off just seven short months from now, in the summer, the way she’d always dreamed of her own wedding. Lastly, but certainly not less important, a co-wedding would absolutely infuriate Daphne to no end, although she would never speak a word to her parents. No, Daphne was far more reserved, and would seethe for months, licking her wounds while Astoria triumphed. 

 

What Astoria hadn’t realized, is that in retaliating against Daphne, she would also be shoving her future husband into an alienating funk of epic proportions, and that their interactions would not be the same, henceforth. She expected to see a cool smirk in regards to the news over brunch, but instead, all the light had gone out of his eyes. Though, Narcissa Malfoy had certainly been excited. “Draco, dear, isn’t that wonderful!?” she’d exclaimed.

 

“Wonderful.” Draco had deadpanned, and lowered his fork, pushing away his plate in favor of three back-to-back mimosas. It was only the dark look from his father that caused him to refrain from further indulgence. And when the brunch was over and Astoria moved to embrace him, he held her elbows and gave a stiff kiss to her cheek the way one would force affection for an aged and odiferous aunt.

 

Only afterwards had Daphne approached Astoria with a smirk. “You just sealed your fate with the biggest nancy I’ve ever known. Best of luck, little sister.”

 

“Excuse me?” Astoria sniffed.

 

“Draco. He’s an exclusive shirt-lifter. I’ve never seen him with a woman…” She tapped her chin facetiously as though she were thinking on something important. “Oh, yes, but I have seen him with Blaise Zabini an awful lot, haven’t you? And there always has been something absolutely…pretty about Draco, don’t you think?”

 

Astoria gaped. Certainly it wasn’t true, and Daphne was only trying to hurt her.

 

Daphne went on. “If you had given me time to explain my motives for last night, you might have realized that I was trying to save you from yourself. But you act first and think later…sometimes I think you should have been a Gryffindor…no matter. At least on our wedding day, one of us is going to be happy.” The icy smile she gave just before flouncing away made Astoria’s stomach sink to her feet.

 

 

Blaise was not overly impressed with the man who for several years, had identified himself as his “best-friend”. The Slytherin Prince was more of a Slytherin Queen, and his tantrum throwing was wearing thin on Blaise’s ever present patience. He could only partially allow Draco’s parents to take the blame for his upbringing, coddling, and brainwashing. The remainder of the fault lay with Draco himself, who continually failed to see the world as it existed, much farther beyond the tip of his pointy little nose.

 

Draco was a spoiled brat, had always been a spoiled brat, and always would be one, on a number of levels. Despite his oft high opinion of himself, Blaise had known him long enough to see beyond that pompous arrogance, where the grey shadow of self doubt and loathing took up residence.

 

It was beginning to bother Blaise that Draco had such an utter disregard for his future wife. It was true that at Hogwarts, Blaise hadn’t paid much attention to Astoria either, but then, she’d been fourteen when he was seventeen, and jail-bait witches never did do much for him. But now, now that she was seventeen and he was twenty, well, the world had become drastically different for them. That Draco had been gifted with this amazing, beautiful, cunning woman, and was more than eager to throw her away, shut her up in some looming expanse of a mansion, and ignore her for the rest of their days, infuriated him to no end.

 

At school, their communal hatred of Harry Potter had made the days pass with amazing ease. When Draco had shown up on the door, Boy-Wonder in tow, he felt amused by the apparent karmic retribution. He’d thought Harry would be good for Draco, and on some level, he had been. But now, Blaise was beginning to have his doubts, recognize Draco’s long-standing Potter obsession for what it was, and wonder if Harry, once again, was going to be Draco’s downfall. 

 

A whimper distracted Blaise from his burning thoughts, and he looked downward at his slave. Alexei was suffering for his Master’s foul mood today: he was naked and plugged at both ends with thick, black rubber. His arms were laced tightly from wrist the elbow behind him, drawing his shoulders and chest back. Twin, weighted medallions hung from his nipples and swayed gently as he shook. Already dressed like this, both of them had known it was a stupid ruse, when Blaise told Alexei he was going to go flying, and to fetch his broom. Alexei had been gone for over half an hour, and how the slave had managed even to get the broom closet open was beyond Blaise. He’d returned on his knees and rolling the broom stick with his nose.

 

Now, Alexei’s body shook with the effort and pain of having knelt on the hard and unyielding broomstick while Blaise brooded and allowed his anger at Draco to get the better of him. There were tear-tracks down his face, and surely the thin strips of flesh over his knees would be bruised.

 

“Had enough punishment for dawdling, Love?” Blaise set his mostly-full tumbler of firewhiskey aside and caressed Alexei’s face. The slave managed another half-choked whimper and canted his face into Blaise’s hand. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’…get up, and position yourself over the armchair for me.” 

 

Alexei struggled to his feet with none of his usual grace and crossed the room gingerly to lay over the cushioned arm, pushing his arse as high as it would go. Shortly, Blaise joined him, looping two fingers through the ring in the base of the plug that speared him. He fucked his slave with the toy until Alexei’s hips rose and fell to meet it, and the puffs of air coming from his nostrils were fast and shallow. Then, he extracted the toy with a single fluid movement and threw it on the floor. A whine came from Alexei’s stretched mouth, followed by a muffled sound of pleasure when Blaise filled him again, this time with his own heated cock. Two strokes alone had Alexei impermissibly and unexpectedly coming over his own chest, and the leather of the chair. “I’ll take that as a compliment, my Lexi…” Blaise huffed. “You are still mine, aren’t you?”

 

When Alexei nodded vigorously, Blaise smiled and slide into him more forcefully. “Be sure to thank Master Draco for a lovely afternoon the next time you see him.” A particularly eager thrust drove another strangled sound from Alexei, and he nodded again.

 

 

 

Draco had replayed the events from ‘The Brunch of Doom’ over and over in his head to try and figure out how things had escalated so quickly, and without any input on his behalf. He spent days with his face in the pensieve before realizing that, once again, the meeting was a simple formality to air what had already been agreed on between his own father and Astoria’s. It was a subtle exchange of looks between the two men as the meeting started, and again as the news broke. In fact, Narcissa, Draco, and Daphne appeared to be the only surprised parties at all.

 

It seemed as though his own life had never truly belonged to him. That Draco had secured the Carriage House as quarters was the largest act of defiance and self-government he’d ever managed. And that too was being pulled from his grasp. 

 

Now with the wedding looming ever closer, Narcissa insisted that Draco return to The Manor for the simple convenience of discussing plans. Lucius pestered him about it every chance he got, reminding Draco that the ramshackle hut was no place for his fiancé to visit, let alone live. He’d had his ‘fun’, and now it was time to be serious.

 

In response, Draco had shut himself inside the Carriage House indefinitely, and nearly wore his owl thin with the back-and-forth correspondence to The Manor. He had become despondent rather quickly, and Harry became his only comfort…when he wasn’t neglecting him, that was.

 

 

Draco did not realize the long term effects that his own bad mood was having on Harry- when Draco was miserable, he grew quiet, distant, and cold. In turn, Harry felt useless, more-so than usual. So, as the days grew shorter, Harry had first grown listless (though in the small confines of the carriage house, there was little Draco could do to help that situation), and then reserved. He had stood by the window, watching flurries of snow whirl about for hours, until Draco had transfigured the small box-window into a window-seat. Harry had been sitting there for days now, just staring and sighing.

 

As the holiday season wound up, Harry began to realize that he was going to miss another Christmas away from the Burrow. The previous Christmas in Romania had come and gone, and he hadn’t even been aware; but he’d relied on the business of training to keep his mind occupied. It wasn’t that he was looking forward to presents or other such frippery; it was that his only company for sometime had been Draco, interspersed with a smattering of visits from Alexei and Blaise. And while he cared for his Master and his friend, really he did, what he missed the most was a house full of laughter and love. He missed tea-houses, and sandwich shops, and the easy camaraderie he had shared with so many people. 

 

He missed Hermione’s bookish ways, and cold pick-up games of quidditch concluded with steaming mugs of cocoa or butterbeer. He missed the Weasley’s; the first people who had recognized him for who he really was- a boy without a family to call his own. A fragile boy, alone, and looking for guidance, in need of support, and perhaps a decent meal or two…. Molly’s motherly doting, and Arthur’s misguided interest in the Muggle World…International tales of woe and adventure from Charlie, Bill, and Percy…He even missed Ginny trying to corner him under the mistletoe and garbled conversations with Ron at any meal-table they shared.

 

But it would be a long time before Harry would see such things again. His stupidity and childish way of rushing into a situation without thinking it through had brought him here: here to this cold, hellish, lonesome place where the only warmth to be had was in the arms of someone he’d once hated. Hated, once upon a time, because it seemed so long ago. Somehow, he’d come to rely on the spoiled prat of a man who was overly concerned with tradition and people’s expectations of him. Someone who didn’t see the forest for the trees. Whose moods could and did change at the drop of a sorcerer’s hat. Not even half a year had passed since Draco took him from Romania, and yet it seemed like forever.

 

Why had he done this to himself again? Why hadn’t he realized he could have just kept going to the clubs and gotten his jollies off and still maintained contact with the real world? Ivan…Harry realized now that he had been seeking approval from the first man (not boy) to ever show him any passing interest, and that his desire to further their “relationship” while at the same time running away from a future full of responsibility had set his current course in action. Ivan, who had molded him into this useless thing made for being played with, and not for truly serving, not in the real capacity of things: he wasn’t skilled like Alexei, although he managed well enough, and for whatever reason, Draco had decided that well-enough, this once, would do….

 

Harry snuck a sideways glance at his Master, who was sitting cross-legged on the settee, sipping tea and leafing through a charms book and frowning. Suddenly, a noisy gust of wind blew the snowflakes into a whirling tunnel, and Harry’s attention was redirected. It was like living in a snow globe, he realized, and sighed again. 

 

Draco had been pretending to read, but was watching his slave instead, for sometime now. His brow furrowed at the way Harry worried his lower lip and looked out over the dying landscape as though he were lost in it. Harry gave another heavy sigh, and it drew a twin from Draco. 

 

“Harry,” He said lowly. Too softly. He repeated himself twice more, before the man looked to him, startled out of his thoughts. “Come here, Pet.” He held his hand out and waited for Harry to come to him, and then smoothed down his hair. Funny, that. One of the very things that had always irked Draco about Harry Potter was the way his hair was wont to stand on end, without regard to anyone or anything around it. And now, now he couldn’t keep his hands out of it. The coarse thick texture between his fingers was comforting in its own way, and it was difficult to keep his hands away whenever Harry was close enough to reach.

 

Draco took Harry’s forlorn face in his hands and turned it up, kissing his cheeks in turn. “What’s the matter?”

 

Harry shook his head, murmuring, “Nothing, Master.”

 

“Good. Then go and get dressed…” He released Harry’s face and sat back expectantly.

 

Harry sat back on his heels with a quizzical look. He was wearing his usual garb of trousers and a fitted t-shirt, the items that Draco had provided that were the most comfortable, most like jeans and a tee, though never the same.

 

“Put something decent on. Pressed trousers and a blazer.” Draco clarified. “We’re going out.”

“Out, Master?” Harry’s eyes took on a sudden quality of life and light, though that faded quickly into a look of trepidation. But he didn’t dare dawdle, and so he got to his feet and moved behind the dressing screen to procure the indicated dress-wear. 

 

Draco followed shortly behind him, watching his slave dress. “Yes, out. Not those trousers, the other ones, there. Yes. I’ve got shopping to do for the hols…” He folded his arms across his chest. “So, Diagon Alley first, yeah?”

 

The sudden thought of finding himself once more, in Diagon Alley, amongst peers who were no longer equals made Harry’s stomach twist. He fumbled and dropped the clean shirt he’d been about to don. That garnered Draco’s snarky smirk of olde times, and though it lasted only moments, was like a second punch to the gut for Harry.

 

Draco waited until Harry finished struggling the shirt over his head to cross behind him. He gingerly bared the back of his slave’s neck (so as not to stretch the collar of the shirt) and lowered his mouth, allowing his teeth to scrape and abrade the flesh while he sucked. When he lifted his head, he wiped the wetness away and settled the shirt back into place, smoothing it with his fingers. “I’m going to put a glamour on you. You’ve always drawn too much attention anyhow. And the effort it would take to explain why we were together…” He caught Harry’s weight and pulled the slave against him as he sagged with relief. “Did you think I was going to leash you and pull you through the streets?” he murmured in Harry’s ear.

 

Harry flushed but didn’t speak. Draco knew him too well, and a response wasn’t necessary.

 

“Although,” Draco’s lips brushing against Harry’s ears made the slave shudder with delight. “The idea does have it’s appeal…” His hand snaked under Harry’s shirt and rolled a nipple until it budded tightly and Harry groaned. Only then did he move away, giving a rough slap to Harry’s bottom. “Let’s get a move-on then, before you drive me to distraction…


	34. Chapter 34

Harry worked his shoulders up and side to side, then craned his neck for the fifth time in as many minutes. The glamour Draco had put on him made him appear taller, with darker skin and straighter hair, and gave the appearance of dull, black eyes. Harry had laughed at first, because he thought he looked like he ought to be running a curry shop. But he wasn’t laughing anymore. The glamour clung to him like a sticky film, making him quite aware of every inch of skin he had. It made him itch and squirm. It was nothing like taking polyjuice, where one’s own body changed, but instead a thickly woven charm that laid over him.

 

“Quit fidgeting!” Draco hissed under his breath as he readjusted his scarf. “It looks suspicious, and I need to stop at Gringott’s!”

 

Harry murmured his apology and made more of an effort to compose himself. He watched as his Master did the same, just before stepping into the Goblin-Bank. 

 

Draco straightened and drew his shoulders up, making himself seem even taller. He smoothed his hair, and crisped his collar, and pulled the cuffs of his sleeves into place. Then, he beckoned to Harry absently and they went inside. Draco’s tight stride clipped the marble floors and made his footsteps echo through the lobby. Several Goblins looked down at him from their posts approvingly. Harry had nearly forgotten the way Draco’s presence could command a room, but it was clear to him now that this was his Master’s stage persona; a buffer and disguise used to effectively keep the public at arms length or further.

 

It took only minutes for Draco to look over his books and make a withdrawal, having opted not to make a personal visit to his vault. He tucked the small purse inside his jacket pocket and they returned to the shops of Diagon Alley. Their first stop was Madam Primpernelle’s Beautifying Potions, where Draco did not dawdle or browse. He made a bee-line for the counter, and asked for an atomizer of Devil’s Berries and Black Currant, and the accompanying lotion. 

 

“Mother’s favorite,” He mumbled to Harry as the saleswoman wrapped and bagged them, chatting away about Draco’s ‘lucky girl’.

 

Harry nodded solemnly and tried not to make eye contact with the babbling sales woman, who seemingly took such an action as a cue to launch into a theatrical tirade about the newest products.

 

The next stop on Draco’s list was Scribbulus Writing, where it took much longer for him to find what he was looking for. Draco wandered up and down the isles, and then spent what seemed like hours pouring over the glass cases, his nose scrunched in scrutiny. Harry tried to browse with interest, but it was as useless as trying to stay awake in Professor Binn’s class. Each time he fell more than ten feet behind Draco, Draco would petulantly snap his fingers until Harry caught up.

 

“I can leash you, you know,” Draco drawled absently, and leaned over a glass case with interest. Before Harry could respond, the straightened, and searched for the clerk, across the room. When they made eye contact, the clerk came around the other side of the case, offering his services. “You do engraving, I presume?” He pursed his lips with annoyance at the molasses-like rate with which the elderly wizard moved, and apparently processed speech.

 

When the old man nodded, Draco pointed his finger down at an ornate gold ink-pot, decorated with twining serpents and beasts. Shakily, the man retrieved it, and then reached for the quill-holder that was beneath the glass of Draco’s tapping finger. Draco inspected them both for artistic flaw, and finally satisfied, nodded. They waited while the aged wizard engraved Lucius’ initials on the quill-holder, and when all was said and done, Draco handed the package for Harry to hold.

 

They took some time to peruse the various stalls and stands on the street. Draco bought a bag of roasted nuts that were apparently displeasing, and he handed them quickly off to Harry, who found them quite appetizing. He took his time with them, following after Draco like a devoted toddler, while he browsed and scrutinized the goods.

 

Harry was not paying attention to his whereabouts when he heard a familiar booming voice say, “Wotch yerself, there now!” A large hand turned him back up onto the curb, and Harry turned incredulously. 

 

“Hagrid?!” He couldn’t help but exclaim.

 

Hargid stopped and peered down at Harry, and Harry gulped. “Do I know yeh?” His brow was furrowed with concentration, but there was not a single sparkle of recognition in his eyes.

 

Harry stammered for a moment, and then Draco was at his side, jerking him further away from the giant. “Of course you don’t know him, you great, hulking idiot. You’d do well to be on your way, then, too.” He snarled.

 

Hagrid frowned and leaned over Draco. “Well, if it isn’ little Draco Malfoy…haven’t changed a knut, hav’yer?”

 

Draco paled slightly and backed away some, taking Harry’s elbow and pulling him along. “Miracle you haven’t been locked up yet, isn’t it? Better move along before someone files a complaint on you for harassing the general public!”

 

Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest, and he had to force himself to stand by Draco’s side while he bullied one of Harry’s oldest friends. He suddenly longed to catch up with the colossal man in his tiny cabin in front of a roaring fire. ‘Hagrid, it’s me, Harry!’ part of him wanted to scream. The other part of him made him want to hide behind Draco with shame, for Hagrid certainly wouldn’t understand the position he was in now.

 

Luckily, Hagrid was in a jovial mood and laughed off his encounter with the young Malfoy rather than pursue a fight. Draco tugged Harry away, and into a side street, full of empty cargo boxes and trash. He whipped his wand out of his shirt sleeve and slashed it over their heads. “Are you bloody fucking mad?!” He hissed, despite the silencing charm he’d just cast. “I didn’t realize that I would have to tell you not to talk to anyone. Anyone! Not people you know, not shopkeepers or clerks, not dogs in the street! Sweet fucking Salazar, Harry! Are you trying to have us on the front page of The Prophet?”

 

“He startled me!” Harry said in self defense, his face coloring at the reproach. 

 

“He startled me!” Draco mocked with a sneer.

 

The tone of the words stung Harry as if he’d been slapped, and he lowered his eyes contritely. “Sorry. I’m sorry, Master.”

 

Harry’s penitent look and posture stripped all of Draco’s anger away, and he fought the urge to caress his face and kiss his forehead. His hand rose, and he gripped Harry’s bicep tightly. “Just…just pay more attention. Don’t do anything to dishonor me.”

 

Harry’s eyes flickered upward, momentarily catching with Draco’s before rolling ground-ward again. “Yes, Sir….I don’t want to dishonor you. I’ll try to be more pleasing…” He licked his lips and swallowed.

 

“Good. That’s good.” Draco whispered, forcing himself away from his slave. Their close proximity had his body humming. He was beginning to regret this outing already, and bad feeling was coiling in the pit of his stomach. But they were already out, and the inconvenience of taking Harry back to The Carriage House and returning outweighed the benefits. He was certain that Harry would be more careful from now on.

 

Despite Draco’s reservations, the afternoon advanced without further incident, although the streets of Diagon Alley became more crowded as the day wore on. They ran into some of Draco’s compatriots from Slytherin, and he played Harry off as “one of his father’s boys, borrowed for the day.” And though he was sneered at, was barely paid further attentions during the brief encounters.

 

Draco relied on the clerks at Twilfitt and Tatting’s to pick something appropriate for Astoria, and left with a lovely grey Mngwa muff and matching lined hood. It was expensive, even for him, but was certain that both sets of their parents would be pleased with the gift, and he’d never known any Slytherin woman to turn down accessories, especially when made with the fur of rare and exotic beasts.

 

They toured Sugarplum’s Sweets, Slug and Jigger’s Apothecary, and Whizz Hard Books, although the last of the shops had been the only one where they’d neglected to make a purchase. Harry had hurried after Draco, looking wistfully into the shop windows of the Quidditch store, Broomstix, and even Second Hand Brooms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone flying, let alone played Quidditch. Even his dreams has ceased to portray such recreations. He recalled his rivalry with Draco on the quidditch pitch, and found himself wondering if Draco every went flying at all, any more. He’d once enjoyed it, hadn’t he? Or had that been something else his father had forced on him, encouraging him toward something he had no interest in. Before he could think of a way to subtly inquire, Draco slowed and turned to him.

 

“How are your wrapping skills?” Draco inquired, examining his fingernails discretely. 

 

Harry snorted softly.

 

“Well, that was to be expected, wasn’t it?” Draco sighed, and steered Harry by the elbow to an outdoor stall whose prime services including gift-wrapping and delivering packages for the holidays. There, he divested Harry of his burden of parcels, boxes, and bags, took careful stock of his items, and catalogued them neatly on the form provided. The girl at the counter heavily laid on the charm as she flirted with Draco, though he ignored her with a skill borne of recent practice.

 

“We can rush the shipping if you like,” She purred, letting her hand linger over Draco’s as she handed him the bill. “I could hand-deliver it personally.”

 

“That won’t be necessary. By the end of the week is fine.” He didn’t even make eye contact as he withdrew the purse from his blazer and counted out the fee. The girl pouted as she handed Draco the receipt. 

 

Harry couldn’t put his finger on what it was about the interaction that pleased him, but he stood a little taller, proud to be looked on as Draco’s cohort for the excursion. The girl, clearly getting no-where with Draco, turned to Harry and put on a winning smile. “Say!” She exclaimed. “You look fam-“

 

Draco’s eyes followed the girl’s briefly, and then he snatched the bill from her and stuffed it into his pocket. “That’s great, thanks!” He ushered them quickly from the stand and around the corner before performing a formal assessment on Harry. “Glamour’s fading.” He announced with a frown.

 

Harry’s eyes widened. Now that he mentioned it, his skin no longer itched as much as it felt like it was wet and dripping.

 

“No matter…” Draco sighed. “We’re done here anyway. Although I did have some business to tend to in Ornskoldvik…” He assessed Harry again, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The likelihood of being seen…is probably minimal…it’s only two stops…I could go tomorrow…although…” Draco mused aloud. “Alright, come on.” He decided finally, holding his hand out.

 

Harry took the proffered hand and tucked himself tightly against his Master’s lithe frame. His breath and heart rate quickened at their proximity, and he could smell the clean scent of Draco’s skin, mixed with the musk of the cologne he sprayed on his clothes before leaving. At the familiar tugging sensation around his middle, Harry tightened his hold around his Master, and let his head fall against his shoulder as his eyes closed.

 

As they arrived, Draco palmed Harry’s burgeoning erection briefly, then pushed him back with an fond smile. “Begging for a buggering…” he murmured to himself. “The sooner we finish…” He let his promise trail and waved for Harry to follow him again.

 

Their first stop in Sweden was an odd sort of shop that bore a wooden sign so old it looked likely to fall off it’s supporting chain at any moment. The faded paint was nearly impossible to read, but glinted just as they stepped inside, and Harry thought it bore a slithering snake, although possibly it was a coiled whip; he couldn’t be certain.

 

They moved toward the back of the store, until a clerk looked up at them. His eyes sparked with recognition. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy…” His smile was cool, and he sent an appraising glance toward Harry. “Is this your-“

 

“Gaius!” Draco interrupted him quickly. “It’s good to see you again. I trust you’re finished with my order?”

 

The man gave a single nod of his head and lifted his brow. “Wouldn’t have owled you if I wasn’t.” He lifted a hinged portion of countertop up and beckoned. “Shall we?”

 

Draco looked solemnly at Harry. “Stay here. Don’t touch anything.”

 

Harry flushed slightly as he obediently nodded and whispered, “Yes, Master.” At his word, the two disappeared into what could only have been a back room. They were gone briefly, but in the interim, Harry stood rooted in place, his hands folded behind him carefully. His eyes roamed over the items in the cluttered shop. There were articles of every imaginable material and substance, many bearing a superficial resemblance to or directly representation of a snake, although there were several items that were distinctly dragon-esque, or embodied other lizard-like creatures. 

 

He was busy studying the intricate artistic renderings on the handles of a collection of leather whips, crops, and leashes that hung on the wall behind one counter when Draco and Gaius appeared again. Draco appeared satisfied, and the man pleased.

 

“I’ll let you know how they work out,” Draco promised, patting his breast pocket, and the shop keeper smiled knowingly at Harry.

 

“Do.” He replied simply, pointing his wand to open the door for them.

 

Harry gave one final look backward to the odd man and his strange shop, just before Draco ushered him back out onto the street. Draco acted as though nothing were out of the ordinary, although Harry’s interest, and fear were aroused by the unheard and unspoken words that had passed between Draco and the shopkeeper.

 

“On to Mordecai’s,” Draco said, voice chipper. He led Harry a ways down the snowy streets, nearly deserted, and a far cry from the bustling shops of Diagon Alley. They turned down a lane that was reminiscent of Knockturn Alley, and stopped halfway down at a dimly lit place that appeared to be a bookshop. 

 

“Don’t go too far,” Draco warned Harry, trailing his hand across his slave’s back as he slipped past him on his way to examine a shelf of particular interest. 

 

Harry nodded his acquiescence, grateful for the verbal loosening of his metaphorical leash. He might have killed himself if he had to follow and stand next to Draco while he perused Merlin-knows-what sort of boring texts, in some obscure language, no doubt. He soon found himself in an small but neatly arranged area with newspapers, magazines, and prints whose headlines screamed about the current events. He picked up one that bore a smug-looking Viktor Krum on the cover and began to leaf through it. 

 

It was not much longer before Harry became aware of heated whispering. He lowered the pages of the magazine, and what he saw nearly made his heart stop. Staring back at him, were two sets of very familiar eyes…eyes that belonged to the two people he once considered his very best friends in the world. The suspicious and angry eyes belonged to one, Ronald Weasley, and the other set, questioning and intelligent, to Hermione.

 

Harry gasped to himself, nearly dropped the magazine, then jerked it back into place, his feet rooting him to the spot.

 

“It is! Look! Didn’t you see?” He heard Ron’s voice ratchet up in pitch even as the heavy fall of footsteps brought him nearer. He jerked the magazine out of Harry’s hands and threw it on the floor. “Harry!” He accused, his voice angry and excited all at once.

 

Harry’s mouth worked wordlessly a few moments. “I think you’ve got the wrong bloke,” he finally stammered.

 

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “Have I? Have I really?” He drew his wand and pointed it at Harry, who could only blink as his heart raced.

“Ron!” Hermione warned, tugging his elbow. 

 

He shook her off easily. “It’s easy to see through a glamour, especially one that’s wearing off. I never realized you thought I was such an idiot.” Ron spat, then waved his wand the length of Harry’s body. 

 

Harry felt the final wisps of the glamour drawn away, stuck to the end of Ron’s wand like a torn spider web. The relief of his own skin being able to breath was countered by the anxiety of being discovered, and the fear of being caught conversing with them by Draco.

 

“They taught us that in Auror training…” Ron stated almost smugly. 

 

His voice was nearly drowned by Hermione’s sudden squeal. “Harry!” She threw herself at Harry and embraced him warmly, and it was all Harry could to to keep them both on their feet.

 

The hurt look on Ron’s face was tangible. “Where’ve you been, mate? Mum’s out of her head with worry. Do you have any idea how long it’s been? Do you even care?”

 

“Of course I do!” came Harry’s insistent whisper. The tightness in his chest was becoming unbearable. He looked first to his left, then to his right, and then angled his head to see past Ron and Hermione.

 

“Looking for an escape route, so you can take off again?” Ron questioned bitterly. “Too good for your friends now?”

 

“No, you bloody idiot,” came Draco’s icy and strained voice. He stepped out from a series of bookshelves behind Harry and moved toward the trio. “He’s looking for me.”

 

“Malfoy!” Ron and Hermione said together. And then Ron continued. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I might ask you the same thing.” Draco drawled, settling a hand down on Harry’s shoulder. “Alright, Harry?” He breathed into his slave’s ear.

 

Harry swallowed thickly and his eyes fell away from Ron’s, angling toward the floor. He gave the barest hint of a nod.

 

”Why would he be looking for you?” Hermione said, the venom in her voice matching Ron’s.

 

Draco squeezed Harry’s shoulder lightly before turning his steely gaze to her. “That’s really none of your concern, Granger.”

 

“Maybe not Malfoy,” Ron agreed. “But it is mine.” He drew his wand and aimed it at Draco.

 

“Oh?” Draco lifted a single brow, then drew his own wand, looking at it boredly. “How so, Weasel?”

 

“That’s Auror Weasley to you. And that’s why.”

 

“Piss off,” Draco scowled, taking Harry by the elbow.

 

“Harry’s coming with us.” Ron announced, grabbing Harry’s opposite wrist and jerking him away from Draco.

 

“I think not.” Draco narrowed his eyes. “Harry?”

 

Harry twisted his arm away from Ron and stepped back across the gap to Draco, his face aflame, his embarrassment obvious. Hermione gasped and Ron narrowed his eyes.

 

“What have you done to him?”

 

“Done?” Draco fought to keep the corners of his mouth from quirking up snidely. “Nothing. Have I ‘done’ anything to you, Harry?” he turned his gaze to his slave, who looked as though he were trying very hard to melt into the floor.

 

“No.” Harry said lowly, meeting Ron and Hermione’s eyes briefly before looking away. “Nothing.”

 

Draco smirked and curled one hand possessively around Harry’s waist. “Good. You see? And now if you don’t mind, we’ll just be going…”

 

Ron’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I don’t think so.” The end of his wand shook threateningly. “Harry Potter in on the international list of missing wizards, and if you take him out of my sight before I conduct a full investigation, I will be forced to file a report naming you and your family as kidnappers.”

 

“Please.” Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That sort of thing would have been in the paper.” He tightened his grip on Harry and shifted to disapparate.

 

“Go ahead then.” Ron smirked. “I’d love the opportunity to show up on your doorstep and rummage through that mansion of yours. I can guarantee the crew of Aurors I show up with won’t give two blast-ended skrewts about your precious family heirlooms. How’d you like to see your mother’s personals strewn about the lawn, again?” Ron was obviously referring to the first time The Manor had been ‘investigated’, following the downfall of Voldemort, and in relation to Lucuis’ position as a known Death-Eater.

 

Draco paled, and lowered his wand. “I can guarantee you he hasn’t been kidnapped. Harry is an independent Wizard, capable of making his own decisions. So you’re put off that he hasn’t been around to play with you and the Mudblood…get over yourself.” 

 

Ron puffed his chest triumphantly despite Draco’s needling. “That might be so, and if that’s the case…” Ron shrugged. “No harm, no foul…” His eyes trailed over and he looked at his best friend. “Right Harry?” Before Harry could decide whether to agree or disagree, Ron continued. “But what concerns me is your sudden interest in him, and his apparent loyalty to you.”

 

Harry’s face was quickly turning crimson, as surely as Draco’s was becoming a bloodless white.

 

"Our mutual interest in eachother is anything but sudden," He started, then reconsidered the path he was starting down. Draco’s eyes shifted around, taking in the scene. The altercation between the four of them was quickly drawing attention from the clerks in the store. Then, he leaned forward minutely. “Might I suggest,” He began stiffly. “That we take our conversation somewhere slightly more…discrete? The matters at hand are…of a rather…delicate and sensitive nature. And if you have any respect for your friend Harry, you’ll recognize this as a token on his behalf.”

 

Ron spared a look at Harry, who nodded emphatically. “Ron, please…” His voice nearly broke with the effort.

 

The determined look on Ron’s face softened. “Where did you have in mind?”


	35. Chapter 35

“There’s that Wizard’s pub in Asele,” Hermione announced, her eyes meeting with Draco’s and daring him to make a counter offer. “I’ve almost never seen anyone else there, and it’s about as private as anything else.”

 

Draco snorted. “It’s a public space. How private could you get?”

 

“I’ll be honest when I say that I won’t consider for a second any location that comes out of your ferrety little mouth, Malfoy. You’ve already proven you can’t be trusted.” Ron crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Well.” Draco sneered. “Guess that settles it then; if I haven’t got any choice. Harry and I will meet you there.”

 

“I don’t think so.” Ron countered. “I just said that I didn’t trust you…Harry and Iwill meet you there.”

 

“As if I’d just let you walk off with my-“ Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek before he said revealed what he intended on dancing around for as long as possible. “With Harry... I don’t trust you either, you know.” Draco shifted his weight and tried to look as impassive as possible.

 

“Why doesn’t Harry just take himself, and we’ll all meet there?” Hermione interjected, rolling her eyes at the pissing contest unfolding before her.

 

“I don’t know where it is…” Harry quickly intervened, before Draco felt compelled to inform either of them that he no longer had a wand and was incapable of performing magic. “Why don’t you take me?, And Ron and Ma-…er, everyone can meet us there.” Harry was certain he’d be punished later for speaking out of turn, and didn’t dare refer to Draco either as ‘Malfoy’ or as ‘Master’.

 

“Satisfactory?” Hermione prompted the two men, who were still attempting to stare one another down.

 

“I suppose you’re the most impartial party out of all of us then?” Draco scoffed. “I don’t think so. Weasel can take Harry, but I’ll side-along you for insurance purposes.”

 

“I hardly think that’s ne-“ Hermione began.

 

“Fine!” Ron snapped, eyes flashing. “But if you touch anything but her arm…”

 

“Likewise…” Draco’s eyes narrowed and he nudged Harry into the middle ground between them, and Ron nodded and waved his hand at Hermione. She gave him a dark look, but crossed to Draco, who sniffed, and held up his forearm disdainfully. “The pub in Asele,” Draco clarified, giving a pointed look to Ron as Harry laid his hand on his forearm. “If you’re more than a minute behind me, I’ll start with Crucio and go from there…” He drew his wand and disapparated before Ron could make a retaliating threat.

 

“That bloody arrogant fuck!” Ron exclaimed, whipping his wand up so fast that Harry had to clutch Ron’s arm with both hands, or risk losing hold of him. With a loud crack, the second pair vanished from the book store.

 

When Harry and Ron arrived, they nearly landed on top of Draco, who had a firm hold of Hermione’s wrist, and her wand coupled with his in the opposite hand. “I knew she couldn’t be trusted either…” he informed them all smugly.

 

“You threatened me with an unforgiveable, Malfoy!” Hermione spat. “What did you think I would do?”

 

“Harry for the Mudblood…” Draco jerked his chin at Ron, who scowled.

 

Harry frowned at Draco’s choice of words, and pushed Ron’s wand down. “Jesus. It’s not a hostage situation here.” He moved to Malfoy’s side, and touched the hand that was firmly encircled around Hermione’s wrist, a silent plea for release without further threats.

 

Draco’s fingers unfurled, and then laced with Harry’s, and he pulled his slave behind him.

 

“My wand?” Hermione said, holding one hand out, the other firmly on her hip.

 

Draco flipped it to her without further recourse, and only then did Ron relax his stance slightly.

 

Harry and Hermione watched helplessly as Ron and Draco glared at one another, and made to start circling. Finally, Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation. “Harry and I are going to get a table. Let us know when you’re done killing each other…” She grabbed Harry by the wrist and tugged him until he had reached the limit of Draco’s arm span.

 

Draco’s fingers tightened around Harry’s briefly, refusing to let Hermione drag him away.

 

“Boys!” She exclaimed with a huff and a roll of her eyes. “All of you! Nothing but immature, selfish, little boys…I thought we were going to have civilized conversation, not duel to the death.”

 

“Granger makes sense.” Draco admitted, not tearing his eyes away from Ron’s. “But then, she always was the brains of you lot, wasn’t she?” He slowly lowered his wand, though kept it ready at his side, and released Harry’s hand. “What do you say, Auror Weasel, shall we have a drink and discuss this egregious misunderstanding like men?”

 

Ron lowered his own wand, grumbling something under his breath about a formal investigation not needing to be civilized. Hermione tugged Harry’s hand again, but he stayed rooted until Draco glanced at him and gave what he interpreted as a permissive nod.

 

“Harry…” Hermione said as he opened the door for her. “Where have you been?”

 

“It’s complicated.” He replied after a long pause and a glance back at Draco who was following them.

 

“It certainly is.” Draco grumbled, catching the door and striding through it before Ron had the chance.

 

Draco was pleased to find Harry, still standing after the rest of them had settled into their chairs. He might have been rather outspoken in the last several minutes, but he hadn’t forgotten his place, not even in front of his friends. “Have a seat, Harry.” He said easily and patted the chair next to him. “Relax.”

 

What Harry really wanted to do was throw himself into the chair and slump down as far as his body would let him, maybe melt into a puddle of shame on the floor, and drip through the cracks of the floorboards into the basement below. Instead, he seated himself stiffly and put his napkin in his lap.

 

The waiter came by and took everyone’s drink requests, with Draco ordering for both of them. “Firewhiskey. Two.” He’d said, and gestured between himself and Harry to indicate the recipients.

 

“So.” Draco spread his fingers and propped them together pragmatically. “Tell me. Is Harry really on the international list of missing wizards, or was that you, blowing a bunch of smoke up my arse, the way you arrogant-prig Aurors tend to do in order to get what you want?” He leveled a cool smile at Ron.

 

Ron started to get up from his seat, only to be restrained my Hermione’s hand on his arm. He slammed his wand down on the table top and leaned forward instead. “He really is, you pompous arse! And if you have any idea of self-preservation, you’ll respect my position of authority.”

 

Draco lifted one brow dubiously and smirked, indicating that Ron’s masculine show didn’t do anything for him. He took his time drawing his wand out of his sleeve, and placed it on the table within fingers reach, should he need it. Then, the waiter returned with their drinks and Draco waited until he departed again before continuing. “Why wasn’t it in the papers? I read them daily, and there’s no way I would have missed something like that.”

 

“Oh no you don’t!” Ron said. “I answered one of yours, now you’re going to tell me-just what it is exactly that you’re doing with Harry!”

 

“We’re clearly involved.” Draco broke eye contact and took a healthy swallow of his beverage.

 

Ron snorted. “Why would he want anything to do with you?”

 

“My question.” Draco ignored him. “The papers…”

 

Ron narrowed his eyes. “The ministry didn’t want to alarm the public and cause a panic when they found out that their hero was missing. Now, what would Harry want with you, and you had better make it good.”

 

“What wouldn’t Harry want with me? I’m independently wealthy, incredibly good-looking, and fantastic between the sheets…” Draco glanced over at Harry, who looked stricken, and patted his arm. “Isn’t that right, Pet? Have a drink, you’ll feel better.”

 

Harry glanced at him gratefully, and murmured his thanks, before practically bolting the contents of his glass down.

 

“How long has Harry been reported ‘missing’?”

 

“Three weeks after he stopped sending owls.” Ron danced around the question just as easily as Malfoy had been doing. “You expect me to believe that the two of you are…dating?”

 

“Why not?” Draco shrugged with a smile, and then stroked Harry’s hair affectionately.

 

His act didn’t impress Ron, although Hermione looked somewhat put-off.

 

“Because your engagement announcement was in the paper months ago, you bloody ponce!”

 

“Even you ought to know,” Draco drawled with forced amusement, taking another sip of his drink before handing it off to Harry. “Purebloods with any desire to maintain their lineage don’t marry for love.” Ron looked confused, so Draco continued. “It’s a sodding arranged marriage, you fool. Most of us make other arrangements on the side that satisfy our…natural urges…” 

 

“I find that very hard to believe…” Ron began.

 

“Just because you’re mucking up the gene pool with your Mudblood here-“ Draco started.

 

“Well, why don’t you just ask Harry?!” Hermione interrupted them both. “The two of you are talking about him as if he isn’t even there…and he’s clearly upset…would you just look at the look on his face? Merlin!”

 

“Well, Harry?” Ron turned to him finally and raised his brow. “You’re going to sit there and tell me you’re involved with Ferret-face, after everything the two of you have been through together? After everything the two of us have been through together?”

 

Harry squirmed in his chair. “Yes.” He said red-faced.

 

“Tell him you love how I make you feel…” Draco practically purred, snaking his hand over Harry’s thigh and running his fingers up the inseam of his pants. Despite the situation they were in, there was a part of him that couldn’t resist watching Harry squirm.

 

“I do,” Harry admitted, closing his eyes briefly and nodding.

 

“Bollocks!” Ron growled. “You’ve done something to him, I know it! Harry would never be with someone like you! Not willingly, not without some kind of mind-control. He hates you just as much as we do!”

 

Draco smirked. “Not anymore, he doesn’t.”

 

“That’s it!” Ron jumped to his feet and reached across the table, pulling Harry up by the sleeve of his blazer. “I’m taking Harry in for questioning, somewhere away from you, where he can tell me the truth.”

 

“Don’t you dare touch him, he’s mine!” Draco raged, pushing himself to his feet and jerking Harry out of Ron’s grasp.

 

“Jesus!” Harry exclaimed, stumbling.

 

“Boys!” Hermione scolded them.

 

Ron whipped his wand off the table and pointed it at Draco, his eyes glinting furiously.

 

“Don’t!” Harry cried, instinctively grabbing Draco’s wand from the table and stepping between them. 

 

Ron and Hermione both gaped at Harry for the few brief tense moments that passed.

 

Suddenly, Harry felt a searing heat surge from Draco’s wand. It travelled through his fingers, up his forearm, and jolted through his shoulder into his chest. He made an anguished sound, and the wand clattered to the floor just before Harry dropped to his knees, grabbing his arm and chest.

 

“What did you do to him?!” Ron cried, dropping to his knees beside Harry and glaring at Draco. “Harry! Harry! What happened?”

 

Harry shook his head and dug his fingers into his chest, making a mewling sound as another wave of pain travelled through him. 

 

Ron clutched at him, but Draco had knelt, and was pulling Harry away from him and against his own chest. “Don’t touch him, you idiot. You’ll only make it worse!” He turned his attention to Harry. “You damned fool! You took my wand; the contract doesn’t allow you to….”

 

“Get away from him…” Ron warned, jamming him wand into Draco’s face. Draco batted it away angrily and reached for his wand, but it blew away from his fingertips and skittered across the floor. 

 

Hermione looked at him almost smugly.

 

Harry arched his back, and groaned again as the muscles in his chest and abdomen contracted and contorted painfully.

 

“I don’t know what you did to him, but I’ll find out, and when I do…” Ron threatened. “I’m taking him to St. Mungo’s…” He bent and lifted Harry from Draco’s arms.

 

Draco clutched at him, paling rapidly. “No! Don’t! They can’t help him there! Let me explain! The magic is retaliating because it thinks he broke his-“

 

“Save it!” Ron snarled, kicking Draco away and disaparating seconds later.

 

“-Contract…” Draco finished defeatedly. 

 

Hermione continued to point her wand at him. “Whatever it is you did to Harry, Ron-and the ministry- will make sure you pay. If I were you, I wouldn’t bother showing your face at the hospital, unless you were interested in being arrested, on the spot.” Her smile was triumphant, and she too disaparated with a loud crack.

 

Draco was left scrambling for his wand, but before he could make leave, was approached by the waiter, flanked by two angry looking wizards who were unimpressed by the ruckus the four of them had created. Draco threw the remainder of the galleons in his pocket at them with a scowl, and hurried to stop Ron and Hermione before it was too late.

 

Unfortunately for Draco, he’d forgotten about Auror’s privilege that allowed them to aparate and disaparate directly into the hospital wards at St. Mungo’s. As a mere commoner, Draco had to settle for arriving outside, and tracking them down. By the time he figured out where Harry had been taken, he could hear Ron screaming at the mediwitch. 

 

“What do you mean neither of us can authorize treatment? He’s bloody lucid! I’m a bloody Auror! He’s Harry Sodding Potter, for Merlin’s sake!”

 

In the meanwhile, Harry was sitting on a plastic chair, looking pale and pained, but insisting that he was alright. Ron ignored him as he pleaded to be taken back to the pub.

 

There was no dancing around the situation any longer. Draco could see that he was going to have to come clean now and face the consequences later. He took a deep breath, and strode into the room authoritatively. “What she means,” Draco said coldly. “Is that only I can authorize treatment.”

 

Ron turned toward him with a glare, and thrust his wand between them once more. “Back off, Malfoy. This doesn’t concern you any longer.”

 

“No wands in the hospital wings!” The nurse shrilled at him.

 

“It certainly does concern me. You’ve absconded with my property, and I’ve come to take it back.” He leveled a dark look at Ron, then snapped his fingers at Harry. “Harry. Come. Now.”

 

Harry scrambled off the chair immediately, making no mistake about the tone in his master’s voice. He dropped to his knees behind him, and lowered his head to the back of his thigh submissively. Draco’s hand fluttered back to touch his head briefly.

 

“Your property?” Ron parroted, eyeing Harry with confusion.

 

“What’s he-?” Hermione exclaimed, bursting into the waiting room breathlessly. “I thought I told you-“ She stopped short and looked down. “Harry, what the bloody fuck?”

 

Draco grimaced as he pulled Harry to his feet. “He belongs to me.” He said by way of explanation, and tucked his arm around his slave, pulling him against his chest. 

 

Harry wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in Draco’s shoulder, such that he wouldn’t have to see the looks of horror on his best friends’ faces.

 

“You’re welcome to stop by and examine the paperwork for yourself…” Draco took several steps backward. 

 

“Oh, Harry, no!” Ron lamented as he started to put the puzzle pieces together. 

 

“Ron?” Hermione said quizzically.

 

“Romania…” His voice was rife with defeat and Harry nodded without looking at Ron confirm his suspicions. “Why you? Why did it have to be you?!” His anger started to build again and he took several steps, shortening the distance between himself and Draco once more.

 

Draco gave a heavy sigh. “Indeed…why me?” He turned them around and began to make their way out of the hospital, ignoring the gaping looks from doctors, nurses, and on-lookers alike.

 

“Ron, I don’t understand!” Hermione trilled. “What is Malfoy saying?”

 

“Oh, ‘Mione,” He sighed and let himself fall tiredly into the same chair that Harry had occupied. “This is really going to put you over the top….” 

 

 

 

“Bloody fucking hell!” Draco cursed, rubbing his hands over his face and dropping onto the settee miserably. “Well, that’s that, then. My life is over. My life is fucking over.”

 

Your life? Harry thought, laying his head into Draco’s lap, trying to both seek and give comfort.

 

“Get away from me, Harry!” Draco scowled, shoving him away. “I can’t deal with you right now!” He got up from the sofa and began to pace. “Fuck. Fuck!” He crossed to the liquor cabinet and jerked open the doors, then thought better of it and slammed them shut again. “Fuck!” He stormed to the door and threw it open, leaving without further explanation. It slammed loudly behind him and Harry rushed to the window. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he watched Draco stalk across the lawn toward The Manor.


	36. Chapter 36

Draco had gone first to confess the day’s occurrence to his Parents, and then to the Greengrasses, whose reputations also stood to be tarnished, depending on the way the situation played out. Draco had rather anticipated his father’s fury, and slumped in the chair, silently entertaining the reprimand for his careless actions, and the callous way he treated his family and their reputation. 

 

Amadeus Greengrass had fallen into a rather contemplative silence for sometime, which made Draco squirm even more than his father’s yelling had. But, in the end, Amadeus had been more impressed with his acquisition of Harry Potter than he was of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the revelation of the news. He bade Draco stay on and tell the tale of how he’d come by such an opportunity, and then assured Draco that he would be more prized in Astoria’s eyes because of it.

 

Draco should have been encouraged by Amadeus Greengrass’s acceptance, but instead, felt more despondent than ever. If there had been any good to come out of the entire situation for Draco, it would have been that the whole arranged marriage business was called off. He could deal with the wrath of his parents, for however long it lasted. But now, the Greengrasses expected him to come to dinner, and show Harry off like some kind of circus animal, and the thought, at this hour, frankly sickened him.

 

He trudged home instead of apparating, feeling as though the world were crashing down around him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Feeling as though nothing he did was right. He’d been keeping Harry caged inside the Carriage House for weeks, seeking to protect himself from the very situation he was in now. Doing so had obviously taken a toll on Harry’s demeanor, and he looked lonely and unhappy. So he’d tried to do the right thing and taken his slave out for some fresh air. Draco had taken the proper precautions to avoid surveillance, so he thought, but then, he had ignored the obvious sinking feelings in his gut twice, so perhaps this was due justice. And then, when Harry had needed him the most, he’d shoved him away because he was too wrapped up in his own problems to care.

 

It was with a heavy, sinking feeling that Draco returned to the Carriage House at all, hating himself for all of his shortcomings, both real and perceived… 

 

Draco had been gone for hours, and just when Harry was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to return at all for the night, he did. He appeared just inside the door, and with none of the bluster or attitude he’d left with. His eyes were rimmed red, and Harry would guess that he’d been crying, although Draco might chalk it up to the heavy and cold winds that had been whipping around the carriage house since nightfall.

 

He toed off his shoes and slipped his arms from his blazer, which was now crumpled and wrinkled, as though he’d been slumping somewhere in it for some time. Harry neared him gingerly, half expecting to be cast off again, and half expecting to be punished for his earlier indiscretions. Instead, Draco wearily handed him his jacket and went behind the dressing screen.

 

Harry hung the jacket carefully, then moved to the edge of the screen, where he could peer at Draco, under the pretense of making himself available to fulfill his needs.

 

Draco had his shirt untucked and half unbuttoned. He glanced up, and seeing Harry, gave a weak smile. He held one arm out. “Come here, Pet.”

 

Harry flinched as Draco’s lips touched his temple- he wasn’t expecting tenderness after what he’d blurted. Draco settled him aside on the mattress and stood, pacing lightly while he finished undressing. “I couldn’t very well keep you holed up forever, could I? Suppose things will be easier now, perhaps…no more hiding, at any rate. How many owls d’you think we’ll get tomorrow? I’m guessing no less than five Howlers by 10…”

 

 

 

“Multiple eyewitness reports poured in yesterday from St. Mungo’s hospital confirming what the Wizarding Community at large has been afraid to hear since the fall of You-Know-Who! Harry Potter’s purported ‘extended holiday’ has been exposed as an elaborate ruse put in place by our very own ministry as a cover-up for this century’s greatest scandal! Our own nation’s Hero has been seen, groveling at the feet of one, Draco Malfoy, of the Wiltshire Malfoy’s. He is reported to have identified Harry Potter as ‘Property’, and declined him medical treatment, as recently as yesterday afternoon. 

 

The ministry is unable to give their official position on the matter until the proper investigation has taken place, and their paperwork channels fulfilled. At this time, both the Malfoy Family, and their recent affiliates, the Greengrasses, have declined to comment on the situation at large. We here at The Daily Prophet promise to keep you informed as the story continues to break.”

 

“Really have a way with words, don’t they?” Draco commented, sipping his tea rather calmly despite none-too-promising article. He shook his head as he re-read the headline aloud. “Harry Potter Enslaved by Spawn of Former Death-Eater!” He snorted, and cast the paper aside with a sigh.

 

Harry’s head snapped up at the insistent tapping at the window. “There’s the first owl now, Master. Should I let it in?”

 

“Might as well leave the bloody window open,” Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly.

 

As Harry raised the sill, the bird flew in, hooting crassly in echo of it’s owner’s displeasure. “Looks like your father’s coming across the lawn,” He announced, squinting in the early morning light. “With company. Can’t tell who yet…”

 

“What’s this?” Draco scraped his chair back and moved to peer over Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, fucking hell.” He rubbed his face and huffed with exasperation before moving into the sitting area.

 

“Look’s like Ron…and Hermione!” Harry announced, his own stomach sinking. The owl he’d let in chirped with annoyance, and he turned to take the letter. Before he could offer it a treat from the jar, it pecked at, then lifted an entire slice of toast from the table, and flew off with it.

 

“I take it back.” Draco said, voice growing weary already. “Perhaps we should shut the window. Barricade it, in fact. The door too.”

 

As the wards sounded, Harry opened the door, and Draco was there to greet his visitors. 

 

“I believe, Draco, that these guests belong to you…” Lucius looked equally tired, and none-too-happy. “A bit early, for entertaining…isn’t it?”

 

“Sorry, Father.” Draco apologized, although he didn’t bother looking contrite. “Auror Weas..ley…Ms. Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lucius deposited them on the stoop, and with a wave of his hand, took his leave.

 

Ron cleared his throat, and looked nervous. “Official ministry business, of course. I’ll need copies of your paperwork…the ones you mentioned yesterday…for my report…”

 

“Of course.” Draco replied stiffly, stepping aside and waving them in. “Do you always bring your girlfriend on the job with you, or am I a special case?”

 

Ron shot a look over his shoulder at Hermione as he stepped past the threshold as if to say ‘I told you so’. She pursed her lips in response, and Ron sighed. “In this instance, she insisted on accompanying me to check on the welfare of Harry. She won’t interfere with official business.”

 

“Tea?” Draco offered, crossing his arms over his chest to hide his curling fists.

“No,” Ron shook his head.

“Yes please,” Hermione said brightly, ignoring the look Ron passed to her and following Harry into the small kitchenette.

 

“Have a seat.” Draco indicated the settee and arm chair with forced politeness. “I’ll get the papers.”

 

Ron perched stiffly on the edge of the chair, and looked around the room suspiciously. “Slumming it, eh, Malfoy?” He smirked at snapped the proffered papers from Draco’s hand. “I wasn’t aware that you had your own quarters on the property, or I wouldn’t have bothered your parents.”

 

“It’s a recent development.” Draco replied through clenched teeth.

 

“Parents toss you out on your arse when you showed up with Harry?” Ron commented as he unfolded the bill.

 

Draco glared at Ron and gripped the sofa cushion to keep himself from diving after the Auror to strangle him. “I left when I became disinclined to share my property with them, and they expressed their displeasure.”

 

“And by property you mean…?”

 

“Harry, you dolt!”

 

Ron’s mouth fell open and he looked aghast. “You mean they wanted to…”

 

“Yeah, that’s right.” Draco confirmed. “And I didn’t let them…Am I starting to look better yet?”

 

“We’ll see about that,” Ron murmured, finally looking down at the papers in his hand. He frowned. “This is gibberish.”

 

“No, you moron. It’s in Romanian. Didn’t they teach you any translation charms during your training?” He pulled out his wand, but Ron stopped him with a dirty look and an outstretched hand.

 

“Of course they did. And don’t talk to me like that. I was off-duty yesterday, but I’m not today, and I won’t tolerate your disrespect.” He waved his wand at the papers, and silently began to read.

 

In the kitchenette, Hermione sat down at the table, and Harry leaned against the countertop. “I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you yesterday…” She began awkwardly. “You look different Harry…are you alright?”

 

He smiled sheepishly and flattened his hair, tugging it down in front where it used to cover his scar, but now the fringe was too short. “Sure, Hermione. I’m alright.”

“Can you see? Where are your glasses?” She asked with concern.

 

“Oh!” Harry had nearly forgotten about his ruddy glasses. He touched his face where they used to be, conscious once more of their absence. “I don’t need them anymore. I had a procedure…” Hermione looked at once overly concerned. “Oh, don’t look like that, ‘Mione.” Harry said softly. “He’s not so bad. He’s invested quite a bit of money into cleaning me up a bit.”

 

“Invested.” Hermione dead-panned. “You’re a person, Harry. Not livestock or an estate. And what was wrong with the way you were before?”

 

“Come on…” Harry tried to laugh, but it was forced. He looked away for a moment, then back again. “We both know I wasn’t the most fashionable bloke on the block. It’s not like I couldn’t use the fine-tuning. Don’t you think I look nicer now?” He smoothed his hand down the front of his fitted black shirt.

 

“You look like Malfoy dressed you.”

 

“What’s wrong with that?”

 

As Hermione pursed her lips, Harry turned away from her and lifted the teapot again. He refilled her cup- just a splash because she’d barely drank any, and then moved toward Ron and Draco. “More tea, Master?” The last word nearly died on his lips, and came out as a bare whisper.

 

“Say it a bit louder, Harry.” Draco advised, holding up his cup. “I don’t think your friends heard you.”

 

Harry repeated himself as he poured, and then flushed, hurrying back into the kitchen. Ron gaped after him, and then glared at Draco. “Why’d you do that to him? Embarrass him like that in front of us?”

 

Draco sipped thoughtfully, and then lowered his cup and saucer to his knees. “I just want you to be clear…very clear…about the nature of our relationship.”

 

“Harry…” Hermione reached for him piteously. 

 

“Don’t.” He stiffened and turned his back to her. “This is who I am, now. You don’t have to like it, but it’s too hard to pretend. Yesterday was horrible!” 

 

“Today is horrible, too…” Hermione said softly. “Harry…are you sure you’re alright? You’re not…hurt, anywhere?”

 

He whirled to face her, his eyes glinting. “Do I look hurt to you?” He turned up his forearms for her and held them out, looking into her eyes.

 

“I don’t know.” She flinched at the angry tone of his voice. “You sound like you could be hurting, inside. And I can’t see the rest of you to know…”

 

“I’m not hurt.” He said, opening the window for two more owls. He took their letters and stacked them up beside Draco’s half cleared breakfast plate; seemingly forgotten now. 

 

“Merlin, Harry!” Ron exclaimed from his chair. “Three years? You signed on for three years? Knowing it was Malfoy?”

 

Harry met Hermione’s stunned eyes, then wandered nearer to the men where they sat. “I didn’t know it would be….him. It could have been anyone. I thought it would be…” He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

 

Ron looked up at him blankly. “Who, mate?”

 

“Ivan. He thought it would be Ivan.” Draco finished, a different sort of look coming over his face that neither Harry nor Ron recognized.

 

“Ivan!” Ron exclaimed. “We’ve already questioned him twice. He gave us no reason to believe that he had any idea about Harry’s whereabouts…”

 

“Ivan was the last person I saw before he handed me over to…to Master Draco.” Harry said through gritted teeth.

 

“Charlie even said…” Ron began, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter, you’re not missing any more. It’s only the matter of getting you out of here.”

 

Draco scoffed. “That won’t be happening any time soon, I’m afraid. You’ll find that contract is iron-clad. Harry belongs to me, and he won’t be going anywhere with you.”

 

Ron thrust the contract back at Draco, his jaw set firmly. “Tear it up.”

 

“Pardon?” Draco blinked as if he hadn’t heard him.

 

“You heard me,” Ron intoned between clenched teeth. “Tear it up. Harry doesn’t deserve this.”

 

Draco carefully folded the paperwork together, and slapped it against his hand as if he were contemplating the idea. Then, steely, cold eyes met with Ron’s. “You’re an idiot if you think that tearing up a magical contract will release him from his bonds. You and I both know the magic will force him to honor his vows, just the same as it punished him for taking my wand.”

 

“Are you implying that you would do it if it were possible to set him free?” Hermione got up from the kitchen table and stood with her hands on her hips.

 

Draco snorted softly. “Of course not. This is a simple, solid, business agreement. No one forced Harry to enter it against his will, and I paid a hefty sum for him. Finding a way to void the contract would leave me bereft of both funds, and a source of amusement…”

 

Ron’s face reddened and Hermione looked horrified. “Harry didn’t know what he was getting himself into,” Ron argued. 

 

Draco’s hands spread pragmatically. “I hardly think that ignorance is a valid claim to void the contract. And besides…” His eyes glinted as he stole a glance at Harry, who was standing with his arms folded in the kitchenette, looking none-too-amused to be discussed as if he weren’t there. “I’d be willing to bet Harry had at least some idea what he was getting himself into. He is rather responsive to my…ministrations…” The corners of his mouth quirked up, and he watched Harry flush and turn his back, pretending to busy himself.

 

Ron’s cheek muscle twitched, and he held out his hand. “Give me your wand, you prat. I’m going to run a spell-check and see what you’ve been using against him.”

 

Draco slowly slid his wand from his shirt sleeve and toyed with it a moment, a sly smile creeping across his features. “Just your standard lubrication and bondage charms, to be certain.”

 

A loud clatter startled them all as a teacup shattered on the floor, followed by the thump of knees hitting tile, and Harry’s embarrassed, murmured apologies.

 

“Alright in there, Pet?” Draco asked, eyes still on Ron as he waved his wand, impatiently waiting for the Auror to take it.

 

“Y-yes,” Harry said.

 

“Yes, what?” Draco prompted as Ron snatched the wand from him. His eyes flickered to Hermione now, watching her.

 

“Yes…Master.” Harry gulped. “I broke your teacup, Master. I’m sorry.”

 

“Must he address you like that?” Hermione said with exasperation.

 

”I encourage proper manners…” Draco smirked at Hermione. “Come here, Pet.” He held his hand out to Harry. “It’s important for everyone to know their place, don’t you think?”

 

Harry knelt at Draco’s side, avoiding Hermione’s critical gaze. “Yes, Master.” Harry whispered.

 

“Give me your hands,” Draco said, finally breaking his challenging stare with Hermione to look down at his obedient slave. “Didn’t cut yourself, did you?”

 

“Enough with the show, Malfoy.” Ron said darkly.

 

“Show?” Draco quirked a brow as he examined each of Harry’s fingers, and traced his thumb over each uninjured palm. “I take good care of my property. Don’t you know it’s the only way to get a return on your investment? What good are his hands to me, damaged?”

 

“The only good his hands would do for you was if they were around your neck,” Hermione snapped irately. 

 

With irritation, Ron thrust Draco’s wand back toward him. “You’re lucky it’s clean. I want to see Harry’s…trust you to use his own wand against him.”

 

“You can’t…” Harry started to argue.

 

Draco ruffled the hair atop Harry’s head. “Be quiet. Fetch your wand for the nice Auror, won’t you?” He purred with facetious sweetness.

 

Harry frowned, but got to his feet anyway, and went to the mantle, returning with the ornately carved box that held his wand. He settled it down in front of Ron on the coffee table without so much as a sideway glance, and then returned to Draco’s side.

 

Ron picked up the box and examined it quizzically, tried to pry it open at it’s hinges, and then thrust the box at Draco. “Open it.”

 

“Can’t.” Draco said with a simple shrug.

 

“Don’t test me, Malfoy!” Ron ground out. “Open the bloody box or I’m going to open your skull with it.”

 

“That box,” Draco explained, pointing his finger. “Is Goblin-made and Goblin-spelled. It won’t open until his contract expires, or his life does. I’ve seen slaves go mad trying to get one open. I’ve seen them work at it for days with every tool they could get their hands on, and not even nick the wood.” He turned his attention downward. “When’s the last time you used your wand, Harry?”

 

“More than a year ago, Sir.” Harry replied easily.

 

“More than a year.” Draco repeated for Ron’s benefit. “If you recall the contract, I only just purchased him this August. Which means that the contents of that box have nothing to do with me, whatsoever. Is there anything else I can do for you at this time, Auror Weasley?”

 

“I don’t know.” Ron said bluntly, shoving the box away from him. He got up from his chair and began to pace, seemingly wracking his brain for something else to use against Malfoy.

 

“Why would Harry give up his wand and his magic and subject himself to enslavement?” Hermione questioned angrily. “He’s got fewer rights than a house-elf!”

 

“I’ve often wondered the same thing myself…” Draco mused, looking down at Harry again, then shrugging. He summoned the wand-box, then handed it to his slave with a nod. Harry moved to return it to it’s proper place.

 

“Why did you do it, Harry?” Hermione suddenly demanded.

 

“You wouldn’t understand.” He said stiffly with his back to her.

 

“Now, now, Pet.” Draco cajoled. “That’s not very polite. Answer the nice Mudblood’s question.”

 

“Pet!” Hermione spat, whirling on Draco. “There’s that word again…He’s not an animal…He’s a human being. He’s a wizard. And he’s a hell of a lot better than you!”

 

“And,” Draco said with delight. “He is also an instrument for my amusement. A living, breathing thing that does as he’s told, serves as a means to pass the time, and, when he’s particularly well-behaved, is quite entertaining. A pet, if you will.” He arched a golden brow at Hermione, daring her to defy him.

 

“But!” She began to argue.

 

“Lick my boots, Pet.” Draco interrupted her, lifting his other brow in challenge.

 

“Harry, don’t!” Hermione cried out, and Ron whirled angrily from his place to glare.

 

Harry looked pleadingly to Draco. “Please, no…” His face was already purpling with embarrassment.

 

“Twenty.” Draco intoned, catching Harry’s eyes directly. Only the two of them were certain of the meaning behind the cryptic number.

 

“Master…” Harry whined, looking at his friends. “Please!”

 

“Fifty.” Draco upped the ante. “Be a good boy, won’t you? Show our guests how much of a pet you really are…” He stretched his feet out in front of him and waited patiently.

 

Face aflame, Harry came around in front of Draco and lowered his face to his Master’s shoes. He licked the top of each shoe once, hesitant to show any more enthusiasm for the task.

 

“Harry.” Draco warned, even as he tucked his hands behind his head and smugly returned his guests’ impolite stares.

 

Harry resigned himself and sighed. What did it matter now? Ron and Hermione already knew what he was. Did it matter if he debased himself in front of their very eyes or if he left it to their imagination? Was it worth the subsequent beating for his defiance? Wasn’t it better for them to see him like this now, than to spend their time worrying about how abused and miserable he might be as Draco’s captive? It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t understand anyway. On some level, he wasn’t even certain he understood himself. 

 

Reconciled, Harry prostrated himself even lower, inhaling the heady scent of leather as he nuzzled the instep of his Master’s boots. Then, he began to lap at the smooth fabric, dragging his tongue over the stitching and reveling in the texture. The earthy taste of dust and animal hide filled his senses, and he almost forgot about his friends as he devoted himself to pleasing his master, licking and mouthing the shoes as intently as he would Draco’s cock.

 

Draco’s smug look turned to one of self-satisfaction as Ron scowled.

 

“I can’t watch this,” the Auror announced, and headed for the door, pulling it heavily shut behind him.

 

“You’re a monster!” Hermione accused, a combination of sick fascination and pity rooting her to the spot.

 

Draco’s eyes narrowed to thin slits and he reached down, jerking Harry up by the arm. “A monster, am I?” He got to his feet and closed the distance between them, backing Hermione toward the door. “Do you have any idea about the things that I could do to him and haven’t? Do you think a little humiliation at my hand is the worst to be done?”

 

Hermione was stammering and couldn’t formulate a response. 

 

“I’ve seen slaves strung up by their feet for days, starved, beaten, denied the basic amenities and functions of life, forced to suffer humiliations far greater than what you’ve seen here. Siblings made to couple…Parlor games pitting one slave against the other, where the loser is beaten, then forced to play again…” 

 

Hermione paled, and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

 

Draco continued. “I’ve watched my father tie a slave down and slice his body to ribbons with a dagger until he was beyond screaming with agony, bleeding out on the floor, begging for death, only to heal and revive him, so that he could start over again…Should I continue?”

 

Hermione shook her head.

“So call me a monster, then, if you will. But know that my proclivities are far tamer than those I was raised amongst. And know that your precious Savior enjoys them just as much as I do.” Draco reached past her and put his hand on the knob.

 

“Harry’s not like that! He would never take pleasure from being hurt and humiliated!” Hermione countered angrily. 

 

“No?” Draco’s hand froze on the knob for a moment, then he straightened and looked her directly in the eye. “Harry. Tell her.”

 

“I-I like it. I do.” His confession was accompanied by more embarrassed blushing.

 

“I’ll never believe it for a minute.” Hermione announced, folding her arms. “You can make him say whatever you like, but I know better. Sick, disturbed individuals like you might enjoy inflicting pain on others, but nobody enjoys being the recipient of that sort of thing…”

 

“A demonstration then?” Draco took Hermione by the arm and led her back toward the settee. “Harry, I want you to go and fetch your favorite toy, and mine. Bring them here.” 

 

She jerked her arm away, glaring as Harry disappeared behind the dressing screen, and Draco settled himself down. She remained standing. “I don’t want to be a part of this. I can’t and won’t stand by while you hurt Harry in front of me. Ron will see to that.” 

 

Harry reappeared, one hand clenched tightly into a fist and the other wielding the red-handled leather paddle that Draco favored. Draco beckoned and Harry crossed the room on his feet, handing over the paddle first. He stuck his hand out, waiting for his Master to put his hand up to receive what he had. Draco waved his hand toward Hermione. “Give them to her.”

 

Harry flushed more darkly, and turned his downturned fingers toward his best friend. Hermione looked at Harry, then to Draco, her own face coloring. Finally, she put her hand out to receive what Harry was offering. “What is this?” She asked, refusing to look at the cool bits of metal that Harry deposited in her palm.

 

“Harry’s favorite toys.” Draco said. “He likes it when I use them on him, don’t you, Pet?”

 

“Yes,” Harry’s voice had taken on a huskier quality, and when Hermione looked at him, he didn’t look away. His pupils were dilated, and though his face was still deeply red, he looked more interested than embarrassed. 

 

Finally, Hermione considered the clips in her palm, and picked one up, flexing it open and closed. “I don’t…” she shook her head with confusion. They looked like the alligator clamps her parents used at work to hold the bibs on their patient’s clothes so they weren’t mussed while they had their dental work done. She looked at Draco, and found she could no longer meet his lascivious gaze. Her eyes locked with Harry’s and she offered the clips back to him. 

 

“Where do they go, Pet?” Draco encouraged.

 

Instead of accepting the clamps, Harry dutifully lifted his shirt, exposing his dusky nipples, which had already pebbled tightly in anticipation of the toys. Hermione gasped softly and dropped the clamps as though they were hot coals. The color of her face matched Harry’s.

 

Harry moved to pick them up, but Draco stopped him. “Stay there, don’t move. Keep your shirt up.” 

 

Harry complied, eyes flickering to the floor. 

 

Draco raised the paddle in the air. “Should I explain what this is for, or would you like a demonstration?”

 

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” Hermione swore.

 

“Look at him, Granger.” Draco commanded. 

 

Hermione’s eyes searched Harry’s face.

 

“Stupid Mudblood.” Malfoy spat. He leaned forward from the settee, and ran the paddle up the inside of Harry’s leg, to the “Y” of his crotch. “Look at him and tell me he doesn’t like it.”

 

Her eyes flickered downward, taking in the tumescence of Harry’s organ, and the way it tented the front of his trousers. She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and tore her eyes away, flushing furiously. She said it again. “Fuck you, Malfoy.”

 

“Sorry.” He smirked as he stood and curled a possessive arm around Harry’s chest. “I’m afraid I’m you’re not quite my type. But if you find your panties are wet, I’m sure your Auror-boyfriend can find a way to take care of your needs. Just ask him what else he can do with those magi-cuffs of his…and I’m certain he’s rather skilled with Incarcerous by now…” Draco rolled one of Harry’s nipples between his finger and thumb.

 

Harry gasped and tried not to moan audibly.

 

“Now, it seems I have more pressing matters to attend to…” Draco continued as he raked his fingernails down one side of Harry’s torso, causing his slave’s hips to cant forward, and then back. “I’d show you out, but you seem awfully interested, and I don’t mind an audience…”

 

Hermione’s face nearly purpled, and she took several steps toward the door before fumbling with the knob.

 

Draco’s chuckle was pure evil. “Be sure to have the Weasel write that into his report. And make sure you get that all-exclusive interview with Skeeter. I bet she’d even throw a couple galleons your way for your trouble.”

 

Hermione’s fingers finally fully twisted the knob, and she let herself out without another word, hurrying to cross the lawn and meet up with Ron where he’d been waiting for her.

 

“And you,” Draco released Harry, turning him back toward the settee. “You get your clothes off, you disobedient little fuck. We’ll see to your punishment before the owls start pouring in.”

 

Halfway though the spanking, Draco stopped to watch Harry, who was- unconsciously or not- rubbing his erection against Draco’s thigh, slick pre-come soaking through the fabric and dampening the skin of his leg.

 

Slowly, Harry became aware of his movements, and forced his hips to still.

 

“You’ve been warned about that before.” Draco said, voice thick with amusement.

 

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry.” Harry apologized.

 

“No, you aren’t.” Draco said. “You’ve done it too many times to be sorry about it. You’re just a selfish, greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes, Sir!” Harry agreed, nodding.

 

“Well, if you can’t even make it through your punishment, we’ll have to get rid of your distraction, and start over. Won’t we?” Draco smoothed his hand over the reddened flesh of Harry’s bottom.

 

“Yes, Master!” Harry concurred enthusiastically. 

 

“Don’t stop then.” Draco prodded his hips with the paddle. “If you see fit to hump my leg like a stray crup, then see to it that you finish.”

 

Harry was slow to resume once he’d taken on the meaning of Draco’s words, but he thrust his hips anyway, determined to follow his Master’s orders to completion. After a few minutes, Draco snuck three fingers into Harry’s panting mouth. Harry laved and sucked them, leaving a thick coat of saliva behind as Draco pulled his hand free. He trailed his hand over Harry’s hip, then pressed the slick digits to Harry’s entrance. Harry groaned, and bucked, but the fingers teased him, dancing away.

 

“Greedy.” Draco admonished him. “Take what you want, then.” The probing fingers came back, but only just barely.

 

Harry hesitated, then reached behind himself, catching Draco’s wrist and holding it steady as he reared back, impaling himself on all three fingers at once. He stiffened, and his cock twitched. “Oh, Gods!” Harry moaned and remained poised, his back arched downward, hips up, waiting for the digits inside him to move.

 

“I told you already.” Draco said, patiently waiting for the words to sink in. “And I’d hurry up, if I were you, before I lose interest in seeing you through.”

 

Finally, Harry’s hips began to move again, and he bucked, alternating pushing back and taking the fingers as deep as they would go, and sliding his cock along the soft fabric covering his Master’s leg. His thrusts began to lose their rhythm, and he fucked himself erratically, breath coming more and more quickly until he lose himself to the sensations.

 

Draco lowered Harry from his lap as soon as Harry had come to completion, and pointed to the pearly fluid soaking into his trousers. “Look at the mess you’ve made, Pet. I suppose having your friends here wasn't as traumatizing as you thought, hmm?” 

 

Still catching his breath, Harry leaned forward, resting his head against Draco’s leg as he lapped up his own bitter spunk the way he knew Draco wanted him to. The way he was used to cleaning up after himself. There was perhaps some truth to the notion that he'd been turned on, with Hermione there, watching him as he debased himself; but he could never admit it. Not fully to himself, and never aloud to Draco. Instead, he swirled his tongue against the fabric and sucked it into his mouth, leaving a wide, dark wet spot, but seemingly no stain by the time he was finished. He moved to reposition himself over Draco's knees, but was halted with a raised hand.

 

“You’re still sticky.” Draco complained, standing and stripping his belt from his pants before lowering his own trousers around his ankles. He settled back down on the settee, and motioned for Harry to lay back over his knees. Harry did so gingerly, feeling the hot length of his Master’s erection become trapped against his rib cage. “I’m going to spank you until I come.” Draco said, fingering one of the fading welts on Harry’s backside and thrusting up against his chest. “So, what’ll it be now, my belt, or the paddle?”


	37. Chapter 37

Harry lay draped over Draco’s lap, sticky from their mutual fluids, spent emotionally and physically from the long morning which had slowly morphed into a long afternoon. As Draco stroked his hair, Harry reflected back on the morning. It was easy to see why Ron and Hermione were so upset. He had been, once, too…Draco’s temperamental wall was solid to anyone who didn’t know him, but those who spent a great deal of time in his presence could tell that it was a mere façade, and that something far more complex lay within.

 

When Harry had first come under the care of Draco, he had thought his Master’s moods to be unpredictable, and found that pleasing him was anyone’s guess. However, after living in close quarters with the man for the past few months, Harry found that he had been able to discern a few patterns after-all.

 

When they were alone, and Draco was happy, or at the very least content, he was quiet but attentive and affectionate, and tended to overlook Harry’s minor lapses in subservience. He might read the paper aloud, or pull Harry onto his lap while he read one of his texts. He would play the role of the good-natured Dom and the ‘punishments’ Harry ‘suffered’ at his hand were often elaborate schemes or games to draw out their mutual pleasure.

 

If Draco was dwelling on something that bothered him (usually his familial obligations), he became quiet, distant, and cold. Harry could sit at his feet all morning and not earn a single brush of his hair. He might take aimless rounds of the carriage house, glass or bottle of whiskey in hand, and when he’d been doing so for hours, usually muttered to himself. These were the times that, if Harry so desired, he could get away with nearly any action or lack thereof because Draco’s attentions were focused elsewhere. But, at the end of the day, Draco usually hauled him off to bed to work out his aggressions, only to contritely cuddle him afterward.

 

Draco tended to lash out against Harry when he was feeling angry, or helpless; although Harry thought one emotion probably spurred the other. During these times, Draco became overly critical of Harry, doling out punishments left and right if he forgot to tack on an appropriate title while addressing him, or if he was clumsy, or in any other way ungainly. Truth be told, Harry would occasionally push Draco’s buttons deliberately during these times. It was easy to get a reaction out of him, and every now and again, after a spell of going ignored, even negative attention seemed appealing. And, Harry found that there was something cathartic about a sound punishment- it was like pressing the ‘reset’ button for them both, allowing them to move past whatever was troubling them.

 

Things only truly began to get complicated when there were other people around. It hadn’t happened often enough for Harry to make a full assessment of the situation, though mainly he had noticed that Draco’s demeanor would shift. He would stand taller, straighter, and became wound much more tightly. He became crass, cruel, and did anything in his power to distance himself from those around him, often wielding his power over Harry as a distraction from other issues at hand. 

 

That was evident in the most recent encounter with Ron and Hermione. Harry had watched him make an initial effort to be polite and restrained, but a few intentional jibes on Ron’s behalf had made that foundation crumble. Harry knew that his Master was distressed about the situation altogether, and was certain that the way he exercised his dominance over Harry was a way for him to feel both in control of the situation as well as to intentionally hurt Ron and Hermione in retaliation for the trouble he’d gone through the day before.

 

It was easy for Harry to accept his place when it as just the two of them. Harry had never considered himself a proud person, and he had already come to terms with the fact that there was something decidedly fucked up about the way his managed to scramble pain and pleasure, adoration and humiliation, and love and hate together. But, it became infinitely more difficult in the company of those he was familiar with. To see the looks of pity and disgust on the faces of those he loved nearly broke his heart, but it was clear they didn’t understand what it was like for him. 

 

Conversely, to see the looks of lascivious delight mingled with contempt from former rivals made his blood boil. That they were familiar with his motivations made them feel like they thought they were privy to some secret knowledge about Harry Potter, like they could lord it over him, like they could twist him to their own desires because of it. That they were familiar with his motivations made Harry feel dirty and ashamed to share something so personal with people he considered vile and bad. It made him question whether he was vile and bad…if he always had been, or if this was a recent development…

 

And yet despite all the ups and downs, the ins and outs, and the complexity of the situation at hand, Draco was the only person that Harry felt complete ease with. Draco made him feel safe and grounded. Draco knew what motivated and dissuaded him, when to push him and when to give in, even if Harry didn’t recognize it for himself. If there was only one thing that Ivan had ever told him the truth about, it was that his master would be hard on him, but good for him…

 

“Come on, Pet.” Draco gave a gentle smack to Harry’s arse, encouraging him up from the settee where they’d lazed together after their intimacy. 

 

Harry mewled softly and startled at the touch, which sent tingles up his spine and left a prickling palm-shaped burning sensation behind. Draco had made true on his promise continue the spanking until he, himself came too. Harry had done his best to facilitate his Master’s release by writhing and rocking his body against the rigid organ pressed against him, and was eventually rewarded for his efforts. Now, he had to peel himself away from Draco’s thighs, and he dabbed at the sticky come that was smeared over his chest and abdomen.

 

“Run the shower, and then make us some lunch. And then…” He sighed and glanced to the kitchen table, where ignored owls had taken to dropping their letters. “We’ll deal with the outraged public…”

 

 

 

Letters continued to pour in for days afterward. Of course, it didn’t help that The Prophet gave daily updates with information, including interviews from people who personally knew Harry. Somehow, everyone who knew Draco knew enough to decline comment, and the article became a horribly skewed work of fiction, which was not unusual for something penned by Rita Skeeter.

 

Some of the letters were addressed to Harry, and expressed their deep concern for his well-being, their disgust at who he had become, their rage at his shameful behavior, or their utter delight with his newfound hobby and their desire to help him facilitate his interests, should he ever be free of Draco.

 

The majority of the correspondence, however, was addressed to Draco, and tended to express the collective horror, disgust and repugnance about the situation, about slavery in general, and for the Malfoy family at large.

 

Although, they had received a somewhat strange and eclectic gift basket from Luna Lovegood containing a mixture of hand picked and packaged herbal remedies for various maladies, a black-bound compilation of Muggle Author HP Lovecraft’s works, a tin of biscuits, a bottle of Chardonnay, fourteen feet of thin leather cord, six dove feathers, and a copy of the most recent Quibbler. Draco had picked through the basket in confusion, then jumbled all the contents back inside (save for the leather cord), and pushed the entire thing in Harry’s direction. Harry could only laugh.

 

Draco had allowed Harry to return correspondence with a select few people, including the Weasleys, who he apparently viewed as a great threat, considering their multiple ties to the Ministry. Although he made it a point to scan Harry’s letters before allowing them to be posted, he had yet to disallow any of them to be sent. Harry was certain that Draco’s interests lay in making sure that untrue or detailed accounts of their lifestyle were not being sent forth; details which Harry had no interest in disclosing anyway. Most of his letters were penned with the intentions of stressing that he was alright, happy even, reminiscing about fond memories from school, and catching up on the latest gossip in his circle of friends.

 

Harry had not been allowed to reply to Dumbledore, who Draco cursed as being ‘a meddlesome old man’, although Draco himself had a flurry of detailed exchanges by post with the former Professor Snape.

 

 

It was four days before Christmas, and Harry knew something was wrong the moment the door slammed. 

 

“Stop spoiling that ruddy owl!” Draco cursed at him before Harry even had the chance to look up from the countertop where he’d been sitting, stroking Artemis and feeding him a handful of owl treats. The poor thing was practically over-worked these days with all the post, and the owl seemed to have developed a fondness for Harry following all their interactions. The owl hooted obstinately, and Harry gave him one final pat before setting the bird back onto the forked branch of his roost. 

 

He slid slowly from the countertop just as Draco came into the kitchen scowling. “You shouldn’t have to be told to keep off of things which aren’t meant for sitting. Salazar, you either have no manners, or no sense…”

 

“Sorry, Master,” Harry apologized. “It won’t happen again.”

 

“Oh, fuck-all!” Draco announced, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically. “I’m not bloody cross with you…” 

 

“You’re not?” Harry blinked with confusion and stood rooted to the spot until Draco gripped his forearm tightly and dragged him into the other room, then threw himself down on the settee. Harry knelt obediently at his feet.

 

He picked a piece of lint from his sweater and examined it a long while before flicking it away. “Yuletide party at The Manor tonight.” He mumbled, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

 

“Oh?” Harry responded casually. “Should I pull your good robes then, Master?” He was certain that it was the party that had him in a tizzy, but couldn’t put his finger on what it had to do with him. Perhaps Draco just needed to talk. Sometimes he opened up to Harry, instead of shutting down, though it was rare.

 

“No, Pet.” He sighed and caressed Harry’s face.

 

Harry leaned into the touch and waited for more of the story to unfold.

 

“You’re to accompany me.” Draco finally said, shifting to his feet and crossing to the window as though he couldn’t bear to see Harry’s reaction to the news.

 

“Sir?” Harry questioned, his eyebrows furrowing as he watched his Master move away from him.

 

“Well don’t think this is my doing!” Draco snapped and Harry flinched. “Father has commanded it…” He waved his hand flippantly. “Since I haven’t paraded you around and made a mockery of you in public, I’m to bring you to the party tonight so that all of our friends,” he sneered the last word, “can see what I’ve managed to do with the Great Harry Potter.”

 

The growing knot in Harry’s belly twisted and he gulped.

 

“Merlin, does the bloody show ever fucking end?” Draco fingered one of the carved dragon knick-nacks that had taken up residence on the sill, and then threw it aside. “Of course not…Father will march me around like a prized pig and force me to dance for all of his associates until the end of time, I suspect. And what choice do I have?” He snorted and turned, crossing his arms bitterly over his chest. “Just as much as you do…” He leaned back against the wall and stared at his feet for a long while. Then he jerked his head up.

 

Harry watched Draco stride back toward him, and he took Harry’s bicep in hand, pulling him to his feet. “We’re going to put on a show, you and I.” He led Harry beyond the dressing screen and deposited him on the edge of the mattress before summoning the trunk from beneath the bed frame. He began to dig through it furiously, throwing several items of interest down beside Harry. Then, he stowed the trunk away again. “Your costume…” Draco picked up a wide leather collar and a short hand-leash that was nothing more than a doubled strip of leather with a clip at one end.

 

Harry wasn’t aware that he had leant away from his Master or that his nose was wrinkled with disgust until Draco again gripped his forearm painfully.

 

“Don’t look at me like that. I have never collared you and led you around for my amusement. I don’t even make you wear that harness any more…haven’t in months. I told you…it’s a bloody farce…and just for tonight, you’re going to be meek and brainlessly obedient.”

 

“Is that how you want me?” Harry’s tone was laced with resentment though he knew it was not the time or place to allow his emotions to surface.

 

“Don’t.” Draco warned coldly as his hand came up and he threatened, for the first time in a long while, to strike Harry across the face.   
Harry flinched but did not look away.   
“Don’t you dare!” Draco hissed. “Not now, not tonight! You damn well know that if that’s how I wanted you…if I wanted a bloody Inferius…” There was more hurt than anger in Draco’s eyes, that Harry would throw that in his face after everything he’d done for him…after the way he’d changed…the prejudices he’d set aside…after all they’d gained…

 

Harry felt a twinge of guilt and he looked away, swallowing. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I…it won’t…” But Harry knew more than he let on. It was fear the sparked his sudden rebellion, fear of being ridiculed, fear of being shared, the fear that he would have to endure pain and humility far beyond his personal limits, and at the hand of nefarious and dark wizards who despised him for his name alone…

 

“It’s just tonight,” Draco promised, twisting the length of leather in his hands. “And then you can go back to being Harry Sodding Potter, the slave who talks back and gets away with it. Housekeeper and chef extraordinaire, reluctant but beloved Pet…” Their eyes met again, and Draco’s cheeks colored at his startling admission. He got up from the mattress, flinging the leash away as though it had burned his hand. Draco paused at the edge of the screen, his back rigid. “I…I will beat you if you defy me tonight, Harry. Do not make a spectacle of me in front of everyone…”

 

“No, Master!” Came Harry’s insistent, whispered vow. His astonished gaze could have bored a hole in the back of Draco’s head, and he had to swallow the saliva that was pooling at the back of his tongue before continuing. “I won’t disappoint you, I promise!” 

 

 

Fifteen minutes into the Yuletide celebration, and Harry was already glad for the short leash that kept him rooted to Draco’s side, even if he sometimes had to scramble on his hands and knees to keep up with his Master’s longer strides.

 

Less than an hour in, and he was grateful for the plug that filled him. At first, it had seemed no more than a prop to further the humiliation he would have to endure at Draco’s expense, but now he found that it was quite effective at keeping out questing fingers with deviant goals of their own, as well as the toe end of several pairs of shoes.

 

He was even beginning to wish that Draco had had the foresight to gag him as well. He’d already endured rounds of ‘Yes Master’ and ‘No Mistress,” to probing questions about how he liked to be treated; squealed (rather girlishly, he was afraid) beneath the menacing pinches delivered by Narcissa and Mrs. Goyle, and yelped following several unexpected sharp slaps or tugs of his hair from various passersby. It seemed that everyone wanted a piece of the ‘famous Harry Potter’ and was bound and determined to get it, even if Draco was “a possessive little shit,” like Lucius said he was.

 

He’d spent much of his time shifting seamlessly into any number of prostrating positions, and had licked Draco’s shoes thrice, in demonstration of his complete and utter submission to the Malfoy heir. Indulgent laughter rang in his ears, mocking him, and he face was hot and flushed from the humiliation as well as the exertion. Draco had just led him down the hallway to a less-occupied area. They both needed a break from the circus show that the party had quickly become.

 

“There you are!” 

 

Draco cringed at the sound of Astoria’s voice but forced a thin smile and turned toward her. “Oh, hello…Tori. Enjoying the party?”

 

“Yes,” Astoria said with a broad smile. “Your mother is quite the hostess. And I absolutely adore the decorations she’s placed on the other…house pets.” Astoria was referring to the smattering of Malfoy slaves that stood with trays of hors de oeuvres or flutes of champagne, their bits rung with holly, or mistle toe, or poinsettia garlands. It was Narcissa’s doing, and one could be certain that the scenes she set were anything but garish and gaudy.

 

“Yes…well…that’s mother for you.” Draco drawled in a bored tone and finding it difficult to even look at her while they conversed.

 

“This is Potter, then?” She said, dropping her hand into Harry’s hair with a smile. “You know everyone at school is talking about it?”

 

“I’m sure…” Draco murmured, scanning the room for nearest bearer of alcohol. Astoria petted Harry and made kissy-face dog sounds at him until Draco turned. He saw her hands laid on either side of Harry’s face and the affectionate way she stroked him, and he was happy that she wasn’t cruel, as some of the others had been. But then Harry shot a grateful smile and an adoring gaze her way, and he felt a twinge of jealousy.

 

“Draco…” Lucius came around the corner. “A word, if you will?”

 

“I…certainly…” Draco cast an apologetic look at Astoria, although he was anything but, and turned, tugging the leash.

 

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Leave the boy. These are confidential matters and his silence is not guaranteed when his tenure is over.”

 

“But…” Draco began, his eyes widening. He couldn’t just leave Harry defenseless in the midst of the party. It would be like throwing a fresh carcass into a school of piranhas-when he returned, there would be nothing left.

 

“I’ll stay with him!” Astoria volunteered, batting her eyes at Draco. “We need to get to know each other, if I’m to be his future Mistress, hmm? Isn’t that right?” The last bits were aimed rhetorically at Harry, as though he were some kind of Chihuahua to pant and squirm at the sound of her voice.

 

Even Lucius flinched at her high pitch, but nodded to Draco. “Come along, son.” He held out his arm to Draco and slung it around his shoulders after he’d reluctantly relinquished his grip on the leather strap.

 

“No one else but you…” Draco ordered Astoria as Lucius tugged him out of sight.

 

The moment Harry felt himself transferred, his anxiety level ratcheted a thousand levels. But Astoria led him to a small sofa, where she sat, and he affixed himself to the base of it, against her leg. She was kind, if not a bit flighty, and cooed to him as she talked, incessantly, and without seeming to require any response on his behalf. 

 

“…We haven’t got any male slaves you know. All of ours are female, of course, by default!” She giggled. “Daphne and I share a chambermaid. Her name is Xing Le and she’s got the loveliest brown eyes…I like yours too, of course. Such a pretty green. The Malfoys’ certainly like variety in their pets, don’t they? Ours look virtually all the same, with long, black hair, and they wear uniforms with the most darling bit of lace peeking out…”

 

Just when Harry was beginning to relax, the brazen sound of Pansy’s voice interrupted him, causing his stomach to knot all over again. “Well, well, how did you manage to come by Potter? I heard ‘Lord Draco’ was keeping him all to himself this evening.”

 

Astoria beamed up at Pansy and scooted over, making room for her on the settee. “We’re just getting to know one another a bit, seeing as how he’ll be mine as well, in the near future. Draco went for a chat with his father…”

 

“Oh really? That’s just lovely.” Pansy said sweetly. Her hand dropped into Harry’s hair and she twisted a fistful of it until he was forced to face her, squirming. “Hullo, Potter.” She gave him a satisfied smirk.

 

“Mistress Pansy!” Harry practically squealed.

 

“Oh, I’m so glad you remembered…” She said, scratching her nails ever so slightly down one side of his face, then she slapped the same cheek. At Astoria’s questioning look, her smile broadened. “I groom Potter,” Pansy said, as though it were an ongoing arrangement. “He’s a very naughty boy. It’s better if you put him in his place early, and keep him there…isn’t that right, Potter?” When Harry averted his gaze and failed to respond, she jerked his hair again by the roots. “I said, isn’t that right, Potter? You do recall how badly this game ended for you the last time, don’t you?”

 

Harry’s blood chilled at the memory and he forced himself to nod, whispering, “Yes, Mistress Pansy.” For Draco, he told himself, and only for Draco….

 

“There… You see?’ Pansy instructed Astoria. “Some pets require a firm hand, and Potter is still quite uppity. Have you any experience with male slaves? They can be quite challenging if not properly broken, and unfortunately, I think Draco has been a little preoccupied with your engagement to train him properly.”

 

Astoria shook her head. “No, we’ve only had girls in our house. You think that’s why he’s so distracted? Breaking in a new slave and the wedding plans together?” Daphne had relentlessly taunted her about Draco’s supposed sexuality since the brunch, and this was a ray of hope that she grasped at.

 

“Well, sure…” Pansy smiled easily. “Let me show you a little something that will help bend Potter to your will…he’s notoriously difficult you know…I’ll bet if you can command Potter as well as Draco does, that would catch his attention…”

 

“Really?!” Astoria perked up and turned her full attention to Pansy.

 

“Of course!” Pansy nodded with a sly smile. “Here, look.” She easily turned Harry so that his back was facing the both of them, and stroked the back, inner portion of his arm where it rested against his body. “This bit of flesh is particularly sensitive, and all it takes for you to gain the upper hand is a firm twist…” In demonstration, Pansy’s forefinger and thumb snagged a minute amount of skin and merely pinched. Harry yelped and jumped away from the touch as far as the leash would allow, but Pansy’s hand moved with him. “A firm twist…” Pansy repeated herself, following through with the action.

 

Harry found himself coiled on the ground and Pansy’s feet, having jerked the leash from Astoria’s grasp. As Pansy had stated, the skin there was particularly sensitive, and was causing him an inordinate amount of pain. He whimpered and stilled, trying not to pull away from her bruising grip lest he damage himself further. “Please…please…Mistress Pansy, please…” he heard himself beg shamefully.

 

After another minute and a look of smug satisfaction, Pansy released her fingers and hauled Harry back up to his knees. “There, you see?”

 

“Wow,” Astoria breathed. “Our girls are so well behaved we never have to resort to physical violence. They respond much better to other forms of stimulation.”

 

“Girls and boys are very different from one another,” Pansy explained solemnly. “I have both, but I’ll tell you…Potter here is a different sort of creature altogether.”

 

 

Draco was forced to suffer through a very dry and humorless meeting with the only being on the planet representing what happened when Goblins and humans spawned…he was certainly ugly enough, crass enough, and imposing enough, but lacked the typical lengthy digits and far exceeded the height requirement to be solely Goblin. The man was one of his father’s former associates and had been hand picked by Lucius to serve as Draco’s financial advisor. Draco wanted to argue that he didn’t need an advisor, and if Lucius would take him on official business with him for a day, he was certain he could take care of the rest himself. But, as with the rest of Draco’s short life, the decisions had already been made and actions set into place to wrangle his future into the same manageable cube that every other Malfoy heir endured.

 

He was relieved to be released from their company, and returned to hastily retrieve Harry, though he was not looking forward to interacting with Astoria again. When he found Astoria and Pansy chatting amicably, and Harry still there between their knees, he sighed with relief and perched on a low decorative bench, where he was likely to go un-noticed unless their craned their necks past the open door jamb. 

 

The jangle and slosh of an iced beverage caught his attention before the spicy and familiar scent even made it to his nostrils. Draco glanced up, bracing himself for another round of socialite-conversation and found Blaise, dangling a second tumbler before him instead. He reached up for it with a grateful smile and shifted to make room for Blaise beside him. They made the usual exchange of greetings and barbed pleasantries before falling into a comfortable silence. Draco stared off into the space between his knees until Blaise leaned closer, jostling him. 

 

“That Pansy?”

 

“Hmm?” Draco lifted his head in time to hear her raucous laugh again. He glanced in their direction then back at Blaise. “Yeah. She’s occupying Astoria. I thought I wouldn’t interrupt.”

 

“Oh.” Blaise said thoughtfully. “Surprised you let her near Harry again after what happened.”

 

Draco’s face contorted into one of confusion. “What happened?”

 

Blaise blinked and he sipped his drink. “Harry didn’t tell you…”

 

“Tell me what?!”

 

Blaise sighed and settled his drink to the floor between his feet. “Well apparently it was very upsetting. He told Alexei the last time we came up. I only assumed you knew about it as well. Lexi made a point of telling me after that he would not entertain the idea of being left alone in a room with her again, or he would void his contract…”

 

“What!?” Draco gasped. “Zabini. For the love of Merlin. What the fuck happened?”

 

 

 

Draco’s tone was icy as he came to a halt in front of the two girls. “Pansy.”

 

“Oh!” Pansy looked up, her surprised mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ before settling into a strange smile. Sheepishly and slowly, she withdrew her two fingers Harry’s bottom, where she’d worked them in alongside the plug. “Hullo Draco. Happy Christmas.”

 

“Happy Christmas, my arse. We need to talk.” Draco was fuming, and struggling to maintain his composure. He folded his arms across his chest and gripped each opposite elbow to keep his hands from shaking.

 

“Of course.” Her acquiescing smile did nothing to hide the guilty look in her eyes. She wiped her hand on Harry’s back and stood. “Lovely talking with you again, Tori. Remember what I told you…” She turned to Draco and offered her arm. “Shall we?”

 

Draco’s piercing gaze turned first to Astoria, and though he clutched Pansy’s arm tightly with one hand, addressed her. “I told you not to let anyone else touch him.”

 

Astoria paled at Draco’s angry tone. “I..I’m dreadfully sorry. I misunderstood your meaning… I…”

 

“It’s alright, Love.” Blaise came to stand beside Draco. He squeezed Draco’s shoulder for support. “Go. I’ll stay with them.”

 

Draco’s eyes shifted to Blaise momentarily, and he gave a short nod before taking leave with Pansy, grumbling that it was nice to have one person that he could trust.

 

Blaise took Pansy’s place beside Astoria, and Harry immediately transferred his allegiance- shifting his frame closer to Blaise. “Hullo, Harry.” Blaise said kindly and patted him twice. Beside them, Astoria was starting to sniffle. “Oh, don’t let him get to you. Draco is rather insensitive to anyone’s needs but his own.” He reached over and patted her hand.

 

Astoria gave a small smile and dabbed at her tears, which hadn’t yet, but were threatening, to spill. “Thanks Blaise. You seem to know Draco quite well. Have you been friends for a long time?” She twisted Harry’s leash in her hands, unintentionally choking him, and his head canted toward her as he wheezed “Oh, sorry.” She mumbled absently.

 

“Likely too long,” Blaise stroked her fingers a moment and smiled, then took the leash from her. Their eyes met and held, and Astoria’s smile widened. 

 

She leaned toward him, an idea beginning to formulate within. “Are you lovers?” She purred.


	38. Chapter 38

“You bitch!” Draco accused with flashing eyes.

Pansy tore her arm free of Draco’s grasp. “What are you nattering on about?”

“You damn well know! I told you to keep your hands off of Harry!”

She paused to think and smooth his collar down. “I understand you’re under a lot of pressure these days, what with the wedding, and now all the lousy press and attention over Potter-which frankly we both know is a lot of bollocks over nothing…and I’m sorry if I went against your wishes this evening. But there’s hardly anyone in the back parlour there, and it’s not as if I generated a line of party-goers waiting to gang up on Potter…although that would be something, wouldn’t it?” She couldn’t keep the glint from her eye; picturing Potter as the recipient of the pent-up aggressions from several authoritative pure-blooded wizards and witches…it was enough to make her knickers damp. 

“This isn’t about today, Pansy!” Draco ground his teeth together and pushed her hand away from him. “I’m talking about your private grooming session during which you violated Harry behind my back despite my direct request to you, then lied to me about what had gone on in my absence. Worst of all, you manipulated me into letting you beat him for an apology that wasn’t even warranted or deserved!”

“Oh.” Pansy rolled her eyes and snorted. “That.” She folded her arms over her ample chest. “Spare me your theatrics, Draco. He was an insolent little cur, no matter how you twist the situation, and that’s enough in my book to warrant a beating alone. And besides,” She flipped her hand over to examine her nails. “It’s Potter. He was born insolent. So what does it really matter in the end, anyway?”

Draco’s mouth opened and shut a few times, and for a moment, it was enough that Pansy thought she had won the argument. She smiled triumphantly. “It matters!” Draco finally squawked. “It matters because you are supposed to be my friend, and honor my requests, and not go behind my back to do something I’ve asked you not to, and then lie to me about it! It matters because you could have ruined the dynamic of everything I worked so hard to build in Harry! You don’t know him, you don’t know what he responds to and what makes him shut down!”

“For Merlin’s sake,” Pansy interrupted. “Who bloody well cares how he responds as long as he does it? You’ve got him under a solid contract. You could damn near kill him, and there isn’t a thing he could do about it. That’s the brilliance of the contracts that come from Viteazul’s. It’s why so many of us go through the trouble of purchasing from there. 

“Damn it, Pansy! I am trying to tell you things are different!”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what your problem is- you hated Potter just like the rest of us. This is your chance for revenge! He took down the Dark Lord, and tore several pure-blooded families apart in doing so. Look at your own father! If anything, you owe it to the rest of us to let him suffer; if not at your hand, than at ours.” She pushed him away from her with a scowl.

“No, he doesn’t! What he was like then and what he’s like now are different!” Draco argued.

“What’s your issue? He’s just a fuck-toy, Draco! Something to be used and discarded.”

Draco’s forearm pressed against Pansy’s throat, forcing her backward into the shining wood paneling lining the hallway. “He’s more than that!” he growled between his teeth.

Pansy’s dark eyes narrowed to slits and she regarded Draco a moment before shoving him away from her. She adjusted her clothes and leveled a gaze at him. “It’s only Potter. He was never more than that; not even to the ones who made him their hero. Don’t let yourself forget it.”

“Listen, you bloody bint! You’re supposed to be my friend, and a little fucking loyalty from time to time would be nice!”

“Loyalty!” Pansy scoffed. “You’re one to talk; are you actually defending Potter to me?!”

“You are out of your Merlin-forsaken mind. You sneak around behind my back, manipulate me into having your way with my slave, practically turn him against me…and your…your proclivities are just completely fucked, you know that?!” Draco’s brain spiraled as he tried to sort out what he meant to say, what was a better way to word it, and the realization of what he wanted to say in the first place.

“I’m a Slytherin, Love. That’s what we do. Or did you forget?”

“So help me, if you ever dare to-“ Draco seethed, pointing his finger at her.

“Don’t worry,” Pansy interrupted. “I won’t go near your precious slave again. I can see your loyalties have shifted. And, don’t think that this won’t have an impact on our relationship…”

“What relationship?” Draco squawked.

“Exactly.” Pansy deliberately straightened her outfit and smoothed her hair before moving toward the staircase. She descended two steps before turning. “Draco, Astoria doesn’t know, does she?”

“Know what!?” Draco’s tone was exasperated.

“That you’re nothing but a weakling with a tendency to convince himself he’s fallen in love with every slave he’s ever claimed to own…and sometimes those of others. Wasn’t it this time last year you were infatuated with Alexei? No matter.” She waved a hand and smiled with feigned sweetness. Draco stared at her and she continued. “Tell me Tori at least knows your marriage will be the biggest farce of the century…that you only fancy blokes, and your cold fish lips will never touch hers with any feeling other than revulsion… that she’ll only have the comforts that your money will buy her, and whatever sad excuse of a child you happen to spawn with her, if you can even manage your familial duties…Salazar knows you’re so self-absorbed you may even manage to bollix that up as well…”

Draco’s could only glare at her.

“That’s what I thought. She adores you, you know. She’s a lovely girl… You are a pitiful excuse for a Malfoy, and you don’t deserve her. Someone ought to tell her while she’s still got time to back out…” She resumed her path down the stairs.

Draco felt a sudden panic wash over him. “Pans!” he cried.

“Don’t worry.” Pansy’s smile turned grim. “I’m looking forward to watching the two of you crash and burn. Have fun making a spectacle of yourself, however long it takes to unfold.” She all but rounded the curve of the banister and was barely visible to Draco, still standing motionless at the top of the staircase. “If you do come to your senses, realize that you’re the one in your own way, and decide to forgive my minor transgressions…well, you can appeal to my good graces and perhaps we can pick up from there. Until then…ta-ta!”

Draco arrived before the settee, looking rather dumbfounded, and waved his hand at Blaise. “Shove over.” He wedged himself down between his friend and the arm of the loveseat, forcing Blaise closer to Astoria. He dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his forehead. “Fucking Pansy!” He groaned. He could only hope that no one else had overheard their emasculating conversation. And she was right. He was pitiful, and he didn’t even know what he could do to right himself at this point.

 

 

 

The moment that Draco and Harry arrived safely back in the carriage house, Harry slipped to his knees before his master and began working his leather belt from its confines.

Draco pushed Harry lightly away with a scowl. “Don’t.”

Nonetheless, Harry persisted, and had Draco’s trousers open in another moment. He knew what his Master needed to relieve his pent up tension and anxiety.

“I said ‘No’, Pet.” Draco argued, his fingers tightening on Harry’s bicep. But, his tone was defeated, and his hips canted toward Harry’s warm breath.

“Just let me…” Harry whispered, more to himself than Draco. He nuzzled Draco’s crotch again, and felt the same half-hard length he’d been nosing all evening. 

The barest of nods came from Draco, and when Harry’s lips brushed his bell-end, his grasp tightened and he all but yanked the slave forward. Harry worked him with skilled lips, tongue, and even teeth for a few minutes, and when his free hand moved up to join the mix, Draco pulled it away from the base of his shaft and held in in a crushing grip.

Draco’s breath hitched and he began to thrust into the wet heat of Harry’s mouth. Momentarily, he abandoned his hold on his slave’s upper arm and hand in favor of cradling the sides of his head. He felt Harry relax against him and lift his chin, affording Draco a better angle at which to pump into his throat. 

Harry’s fingers trembled as he reached out again, this time finding purchase on Draco’s angular hips, and he held on for all he was worth as they pistoned back and forth.

“Merlin. Jesus. Fuck.” Draco breathed.

His face would be creased in concentration-the right corner of his lower lip folded between his teeth as staccato breaths burst from the space between them…His master’s cock nudged the back of his throat in and he couldn’t help but groan.

Draco’s fingers threaded into Harry’s hair and he tugged and twisted the locks, pulling Harry’s face flush with his pubic bone as he came. His body first went ramrod stiff, and when his initial release was past, his knees knocked forward, his thighs trembling with the effort it took to remain on his feet. He steadied himself and risked a glance downward. “Harry…” He said thickly. 

Harry’s eyes raised upward, and even in the dimness of the entry way, they glinted with something akin to amusement.

Draco assessed him further, and realized the short leash was still dangling from Harry’s collar. He fingered the leather a moment, running his digits up to the juncture of the clasp and the ring. Two fingers curled there and tugged until Harry disengaged his mouth and rose to his feet. The master regarded his slave silently, then undid the leash clasp, allowing the length to clatter to the floor. Then, his fingertips danced over the rim of the collar where it met smooth, warm skin. “I rather like the looks of this, I must admit.” He nearly whispered it.

A hesitant smile broke across Harry’s face. “If it pleases you, Master…”

“You can drop the act now,” Draco frowned suddenly and grumbled.

“It’s not an act. I…I want to be whatever you want me to be. I want you to want me.”

On that admission, Draco suddenly shoved Harry back against the door frame. He lowered his head, and licked a stripe along the juncture of the collar and Harry’s collarbone.

Harry dared to clutch his hands around Draco’s waist, pulling their bodies closer together. Draco’s teeth raked over the same area next, and Harry groaned. 

In the next moments, Draco kissed and nipped a furious trail up Harry’s throat to his mouth. Their teeth smashed together briefly, and Harry yielded to the demanding thrusts of Draco’s tongue and hips alike.

“What is your issue?” Pansy’s shrill tone sounded in his head. “He’s just a fuck-toy, Draco! Something to be used and discarded.”

“He’s more than that!” 

“It’s only Potter. He was never more than that; not even to the ones who made him their hero. Don’t let yourself forget it.”

Draco felt the bitterness rise in him again. He felt an utter contempt for Pansy now, knowing she had betrayed his trust; knowing that he had failed Harry, who, for one reason or another, seemed to have endless faith and trust in him, regardless.

“Don’t.” Draco grumbled against Harry’s wet lips. He tore his mouth away and stared at a bewildered looking Harry. “Don’t you ever….” His fingers tightened possessively on the curve of Harry’s neck and drew a gasp from the slave.

“Master?”

Their eyes met, and held until Draco tore his away. He dropped his hands and stepped away from Harry as he scrubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, he rubbed his palms over his face. “Fuck. Alright. I didn’t mean for this to…I…You…” He sighed and tried again. “Listen, Harry…you have to tell me when things happen to you. Not that I expect things to happen to you. Not when I’m there, but I can’t always be there, and I can’t guarantee… I mean, you shouldn’t expect…It’s not fair for…” Draco turned on his heel and ruffled the back of his hair. Merlin, but he was feeling flustered, angry, confused.

He felt a slight pressure against his lower leg, and looked down, surprised to find Harry kneeling there, gazing up at him wide-eyed and receptive. Draco faltered in his speech again.

“Master?”

“Bloody hell.” Draco whispered. “I know what happened with Pansy. What really happened that day I let her beat your arse raw. You should have told me!” His volume ratcheted up several notches.

Harry flinched, hung his head and whispered into Draco’s leg. “I’m sorry. I tried, but I didn’t know- I mean, I…just, I’m sorry, Master.”

“Fuck.” The expletive fell from Draco’s lips and Harry winced, cowing as though he was expecting to be struck. Instead, Draco dropped to his knees and pulled Harry’s face upward so that they were eye to eye with one another. “Harry, I’m sorry. I bloody well failed you.”

“Failed me?” Harry laid his hands over Draco’s and his eyebrows knotted with confusion.

“Yes, failed you. I didn’t pay attention when I should have. I didn’t protect you when I could have. I allowed you to be punished for something you didn’t do.”

“It’s your right…”Harry countered.

“Will you just shut your gob and…and…and just shut your gob! I’m trying to do right by you, the least you can do is accept my apology!”

Harry blinked and smiled for a moment. “Alright. I accept your apology.” When Draco didn’t offer a smile in return, he faltered and bit his lip, tacking at the end, “Master.”

Draco licked his lips, sighed, and nodded. His fingers trailed once more around the leather collar, and he took his time removing the circlet from Harry’s neck. When it was free in his hands, he sat back on his heels and studied it as though it were a new and foreign thing he’d never seen before. “Draw the bath.” He said.

Harry nodded and slowly pushed himself to his feet. “Yes, Master.”

“When it’s full, get in and wait for me,” Draco instructed.

“Yes, Master.” Harry took a few steps toward the bathroom.

“Harry.” 

“Yes Master?”

“Thank you.”


	39. Chapter 39

Harry was cleaning up the remnants of their modest Christmas breakfast . He bent over the edge of the table to wipe crumbs from the far edge. He could have gone ‘round to clean properly, but he was feeling a little down, and his mood contributed to his laziness. Christmas had never held many pleasantries for him, though he had been spoiled in recent years past by the Weasley family and other friends. He couldn't help but contrast the time he'd spent with them to those many terrible years with the Dursleys, and then wonder how this year would factor in.

Draco had been rather quiet himself- moreso than usual today; and Harry suspected that it was Draco’s first holiday away from his parent’s spoiling tendencies; although he couldn’t imagine that Draco wouldn’t, at some point, cross the expansive frosty garden to visit. He had to, on Christmas, didn’t he? And that begged the question as to whether Harry would spend his Christmas naked and humiliated- subjected to Malfoy scrutiny; or more favorably, piteously alone in the damp chill of the carriage house.

 

Harry startled only slightly when Draco slipped behind him, fitting their hips and thighs together perfectly before leaning over him. Draco’s body warmed Harry briefly, and he ran his hands from his slave’s shoulders to his wrists. His right hand held a small wooden box, curiously reminiscent of a matchbox, which he deposited just adjacent to Harry’s hand. Then, he straightened, gave Harry’s hip a fond pat, and moved aside, pulling up a chair.

“What’s this?” Harry questioned with a sidelong glance. He pushed the cleaning cloth aside and stood tall, pulling the box across the tabletop.

Draco shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “Just a little something I picked up with you in mind. No, no.” he waved his hand to dismiss Harry’s incredulous look. “Perhaps, it’s more for me than it is for you…anyway,” he fiddled his hand again and leaned forward, his eyes registering more than slight interest. 

Harry wiped his hands on the rear of his trousers and then lifted the box, feeling both flattered by the gift and nervous at the prospect of what it could be. He fingered the wood grain gingerly, wanting to make a bit of show and ceremony of opening it. When he finally slid the inner panel free, it revealed two delicate silver snakes, each ramrod straight and a few centimeters long. He spent a few moments examining them, admiring the fine craftsmanship, the barely visible scales, and the emerald chip eyes. When he looked up, Draco was studying him. “Thank you, Master. They’re beautiful…” Harry said carefully, honestly. 

“Ouroboros.” Draco replied, as if reading Harry’s mind.

“Ouroboros, Sir?” Harry questioned, stroking his index finger over one of the silver stick-like creatures. He thought ouroboros were circular, but he never was that good with mythical beasts and symbolism. “I thought…”

A thin smile ghosted Draco’s lips and he reached across Harry to lift one of the delicate snakes. He held it to Harry’s chest and cocked his head as if he were imagining something. “They will be true Ourboros, if you want them to be… how they were meant to be…” He let the charm fall into the palm of his hand and he stroked the pad of his thumb over Harry’s nipple. It budded in response to the touch. Draco stood then and took Harry by the arm, guiding him to stand before a full-length mirror. He parted the buttons of Harry’s shirt and pushed the fabric aside, then held the snake again to Harry’s nipple. “They’re rings,” he clarified, and prodded the hard nub of pink flesh with the head of the snake. “I had them custom-made for you by the parsel-smith. Fine work, he does. ” Draco returned the it of silver to the case beside with it’s twin. “I trust you’re still a parsel-mouth?” He held up his hand as Harry lifted his head to answer. “It would be a shame if you weren't able to wear them, but nothing we could do about that, is there?"

Harry realized the meaning behind Draco's carefully worded monologue, and found himself surprised by the consideration he'd been afforded. “But I’m not pierced…” He worried aloud.

”The snakes will take care of it, I’ve been told. They're self-piercing.” Draco ran his thumb across Harry’s chest from one nipple to the other, and when his fingers reached it, he pinched it ferociously. The action made Harry gasp and he jerked slightly, arching first toward Draco’s hand, and then settling back into place, allowing the sensitive flesh to be drawn taut. “Well, are you, or are you not....a parsel-mouth?” Draco arched a brow and gazed at their reflections in the mirror.

Harry’s eyes locked with Draco’s reflection. “Yes.” He said with conviction. “What do I have to say to make them go?”

In the mirror, Draco’s shoulder lifted and dropped. “Gaius told me, but…well, you know that I don’t speak parsel tongue. You’ll have to figure it out on your own. Preferably within the hour.”

Harry blinked. "Yes, Master." There were a million possibilities that might prompt the rings into action, and he only had an hour to try them all. Draco crossed to the settee and draped himself over it in a rather feline like manner that conveyed feigned disinterest. But Harry didn’t have time to dwell on the graceful angles his Master’s body created. He had work to do.

He tried all the obvious words first: Go. Activate. Begin. Start. , etc. And then he tried other phrases. Pretty snakes. Pierce me. Bite me. Turn on. Turn me on. He flushed slightly after that failed command. Nipple play had never failed to turn him on; and whether he activated them or not, he was certainly rock hard at the idea of them now.

Draco languidly rubbed the front of his trousers as he gazed at his slave’s back, and his reflection in the mirror. Whatever the last thing Harry had said sent a shudder through him and raised more than goosebumps. He pushed himself back to his feet and moved once more behind his slave. “Perhaps you should…” he husked, and tugged at the fabric at Harry’s shoulders until he shrugged out of the shirt entirely. “Don’t let me distract you,” Draco murmured as Harry’s hisses fell silent.

Harry groaned inwardly. The heat radiating off of Draco’s body was a diversion it itself, and his barely-there caresses were likely to addle his brain entirely if they kept up. Again, their eyes locked briefly in the mirror, and though he continued to address the ouroboros in the case, his words were meant for Draco. Give it to me. I want this. I want you. Make me yours. Take what’s yours. You’re my Master. I belong to you. Take me.”

”Keep it up, Pet.” Draco murmured into Harry’s ear as he rubbed his hardened length into the clothed cleft of his slave’s arse.

Harry all but dropped the wooden box on the floor. 

Draco delicately curled one hand around Harry’s throat and nuzzled the back of his neck, giving him a nipping bite that was sure to leave a red mark. With the other hand, he toyed with one pert nipple. “Come on, Harry.” He encouraged, “The rings will tell everyone that you’re mine. You want that, don’t you?”

“Oh, claim me!” Harry whispered desperately in parsel-tongue and pushed back into his Master’s demanding touch. ”I’m yours, yours, yours…”

It took a minute for him to realize that the ouroboros had begun to writhe against the velvet bed they sat on, and when he finally noticed, his quick intake of breath alerted Draco. “You did it!?” Draco breathed incredulously, and reached for one of the silver serpents. It coiled over his finger tip, and he lifted it to Harry’s chest gingerly. From there, the ouroboros transferred itself, and began to furiously circle and wriggle around the dusky pink areola and slither over the erect nipple. 

They both watched with fascination as the snake began to disengage it’s jaw, revealing a single large, pointed tooth. Suddenly, it reared back, poising to strike, and in one deft motion, bit completely through Harry’s nipple. Before he had the chance to recoil in pain (although he did let out a rather loud squeal), the serpent had slithered through the hole it created and was striving to catch its own tail. Finally, after much wriggling, it did, and settled down into place. Harry felt a flush creep across his chest, and his newly pierced nipple alternated throbbed painfully, and hummed with the subtle vibrations that the serpent gave off.

“Look.” Draco instructed. He nudged Harry’s chin up with his knuckle. “Look.”

Harry gazed into his own two glazed and widened pupils for a moment before his focus changed and he took in the entire scene. Draco’s face was flushed with arousal, and as if Harry needed any more proof of that fact, he felt Draco’s prick twitch again. Harry whimpered softly.

“Does it hurt too much?” Draco asked lowly, bringing the snake nearer to him at an agonizingly slow pace, drawing out the tension, the sensation…

“Oh Merlin!” Harry breathed, his entire body tensing in anticipation of the searing sting, followed by the sensation of being stretched, and the burn of serpentine scales scraping through wounded flesh. He swallowed and shook his head. “No, Master…”

“Good.” When Draco finally brought the serpent near enough, it wriggled free of his grasp and launched itself at Harry’s bared nipple, beginning it’s frantic dance once more. The pinch of the tooth first sent a zing of intensity straight to his cock. Then, the fang bit through him with a force that rivaled the first. “Ah, God!” Harry sucked a deep breath past his teeth and he jerked again. Harry’s nipple tightened around the silver ring that pierced it, and throbbed in time to his heartbeat. He felt sudddenly energized by the rush of endorphins that flooded him- he shrugged his shoulders, arched his back, and picked his feet up several times, nearly dancing on tip-toe. 

Draco caught his eye in the mirror and Harry smiled weakly. Draco grinned in response, then ran his fingers over Harry’s rib cage, which was studded with gooseflesh. Harry hissed, then groaned as Draco let his fingertips catch on the ouroboros. He didn’t tug them, but the friction was enough to send flashes of white pain skittering outward to Harry’s shoulders and belly button He groaned in response. “You’re right,” Draco said. “They’re beautiful.” He turned Harry to face him, eyes raking hungrily over his slave. “And maybe, they weren’t just for me after all…” His palm moved over Harry’s tented trouser-front then squeezed. 

Harry gasped softly and tried to maintain his composure…tried not to thrust into the warm hand gripping him.

“Get on the bed, Harry.”

“Right away, Sir.” He moved with swift compliance, and felt the rings thrum, vibrating minutely. Harry softly sounded his surprise.

“If I told you to present…” Draco asked, striping off his belt.

Harry was on his hands and knees in an instant.  
“Very nice,” Draco murmured as he vanished Harry’s clothes with a flick of his wand. 

Harry felt the gentle flutter of scales again. He sighed softly and one hand came up, hovering over one nipple but not quite daring t touch it. “Sir?”

Draco grinned down at him. “You felt it then? The silver was smelted together with some of my own blood, and the ourboros are charmed to respond to my mood. When you please me, they’ll rumble pleasurably….” He kicked his own trousers away from himself and climbed onto the bed.

Harry was impressed by the process, and nodded to indicate he understood. “And if I displease you, Master?” He questioned cautiously.

“Don’t displease me and you won’t have to find out.”


	40. Chapter 40

The two men had been dozing lazily abed for sometime, and were interrupted by the hurried scratch at the window. A wordless nudge from Draco sent Harry shuffling toward the window, and he retrieved an envelope from the same red-feathered owl that had visited the carriage house every day this week. On returning, Harry clambered back under the coverlet and curled himself into the warm span of his master’s embrace. Finally, he passed the letter over his shoulder to Draco. Draco’s lithe body pressed into Harry’s back as he readjusted himself between the sheets, and reared up on one elbow so that he could read the note. Harry felt the tension flood back into Draco as he read, then crumpled the letter, and he was crestfallen when Draco pulled away from him and gave a simple instruction: “Dress for Dinner.”

Draco readied himself without Harry’s help, leaving the subordinate to sit back and watch, feeling increasingly worried about that evening’s affairs. Draco cast a tempus and shoved his hair away from his face. “Alright then. Come here.” He held his arm out to Harry, who fitted himself easily into the space there. After the whirring feeling of the Side-Along subsided, he opened his eyes and was confused to find himself on a snow-dusted plain instead of Malfoy Manor’s doorstep.

“Where-?” Harry muttered, crinkling his brow.

Draco frowned, turned 90 degrees, and pointed. “There. The Weasel Hole, isn’t it?”

“The Burrow?!” Harry was incredulous. “What? Why? You-?”

Draco straightened his collar and inclined his head, tugging Harry’s arm. “That Molly Weasley is a bloody nuisance; so help me, I couldn’t take another pathetic letter from her.”

“I don’t understand…” Harry said as he hurried to keep up with Draco’s lengthy stride. “What are we doing here?”

“Dinner.” Draco quipped.

“We’re having Christmas Dinner with the Weasley’s?” Harry frowned in confusion. “But what about-“

“You’re having Christmas Dinner with the Weasley’s.” Draco qualified. “I’m having dinner with my parents.”

Harry’s mood shifted from confused to elated, to apprehensive, to downright fearful so quickly he actually felt lightheaded. “No,” he protested weakly. The Weasley household had a way of being overwhelming on a normal day, with only Ron, Ginny, the Twins, and Molly and Arthur. The idea of being abandoned there on a day as chaotic as Christmas, with the entire extended family present, given his current situation…

“What do you mean, ‘No’?” Draco scowled. “How could you not want this?” He waved his hand toward The Burrow as they neared the doorstep. “All sunshine and cheer and the Weasel-family. I was under the impression that you were quite fond of each other.” Draco’s tone was rather dismissive.

“Yes, but-“ Harry argued, his eyes widening as Draco rapped on the doorframe. 

“But nothing.” Draco said firmly. “Happy Christmas, Harry.” He turned Harry by the shoulder, forcing him to face the doorway instead of Draco’s shoulder where he had tried to bury himself.

After a few moments of garbled arguing (presumably over who was to answer the door), the door slid open to reveal a harried looking Molly. Her eyes widened considerably, and her stained apron fell from her flour-coated hands. “Harry!?” Her mouth formed a round ‘O’, and her exclamation drew the others from the rest of the house to stand and gape at the entry way.

Draco nudged Harry forward a step. He lifted his chin and let his eyes meet with everyone else’s, one by one. “I will return for Harry at nine. ” He locked sights with Ron. “He will be here. If he has been removed from the premises, I will invoke the traditional Wizarding property laws- I will expect recompense for my loss, in equivalent perceived value.” He scanned the faces in turn. “The Dragon-trainer would be acceptable. Or perhaps the Mud-blood.” Draco bluffed.

“You!” Ron glared and moved to lunge, but was halted by Fred and George, who flanked him and each took an arm.

Draco quirked a brow and though his hand tightened on Harry’s bicep, he did not show any outward signs of fear. “ Harry will be ready at the door for me. Every minute you make me wait, I will take out of his hide. Have I made myself clear?” It was as though no one dared to respond because both the affirmation and the contradiction of the young Malfoy were an insult and a betrayal to Harry. “We could take leave instead….” Draco started to turn them away from The Burrow. 

“No, Wait!” Molly reached for the two young men.

”Well then?” Draco paused and looked over his shoulder, posing the question again.

There was a collection of nods and murmurs of reluctant assent.

Satisfied, Draco ducked his head to Harry’s ear, whispering just loud enough for him, “Do as you like in my absence- I trust you’ll behave. I’ll be back for you tonight. Yes?”

Harry managed a brief nod, and Draco, took a few steps away, calling over his shoulder before disapparating, “It would do you all well to recall that Harry wanted this for himself!”

Harry was left to stand, face aflame, while everyone gawked at him, utterly gobsmacked. Molly could only wring her hands and look past him to the spot where Draco had gone from. Everyone was waiting for something else to happen, and in the meanwhile, Harry was rooted to the spot.

It was Charlie who stepped forward, pulling Harry inside and lending a brotherly embrace. “Merlin, Harry! If all you were interested in was a bit of smack-about before sex, I could have accommodated!” There was a sparkle in his eye as he tousled Harry’s hair roughly before releasing him into the midst of the Weasley family.

Molly looked stricken and admonished her son. “Charlie!” She reached for Harry, who had forced an uneasy smile and was quickly turning crimson. She crushed him to her breast, petting his head as though he were a small child in need of comfort.

”MUM! You’re-” Fred began.

”-Smothering him!” George finished, and they tugged Harry away, giving him a bit of back-and-forth jostle until his eyes crossed.

“Oh, Honestly!” Hermione protested on Harry’s behalf, stepping up to be the next to greet him. She embraced him gingerly as if she was afraid to hurt him, which frankly Harry was grateful for, since his nipples were throbbing painfully again from the friction and rubbing against his shirt. “Are you alright, Harry?” She rubbed his upper arms and searched his face, looking for any sign he might be lying.

”Fine.” He said, rather unconvincingly. But how could he make it known to anyone that the root of his stress was because he was there now, and not the result of anything Draco had recently done?

“Good Godric! Is that a bruise?!” Hermione shrilled loud enough to make half the people in the room wince. She grabbed Harry’s chin and forced his face to the side so that she could ogle his neck.

Arthur, Molly, Hermoine, Fleur, Ginny, and Percy all craned their heads to see. Harry clapped his hands around his neck. If there was one hickey, there were certain to be others; 

“It’s a love bite!” Ginny announced to everyone.

“It’s a bloody bruise.” Ron growled.

To Harry’s horror, the two youngest Weasleys began to bicker over what sort of mark it actually was. And, perhaps worse, no one bothered to quiet them. “Would the two of you shut it!” he finally bellowed. Everyone looked at him in awe. “I’m not entirely certain why I am here, other than because He wanted me to be here, but I do know that I have absolutely no desire to be examined, scrutinized, babied, or pitied! When I checked this morning, I was still Harry, and I am fairly certain that today is Christmas. At The Burrow. And I get to spend it with you instead of with…with…with them. So if you don’t mind….” By now, everyone was gaping at Harry again. “What?!” He was exasperated. “Unless I’ve got something on my face, I want to be treated like normal!”

”Well said, Harry.” Arthur said in a quiet, understated way. He clapped him on the back and steered him toward the kitchen, and away from the rest of the family. “What do you say we check on Molly’s goose?”

“Arthur! You leave that bird alone, hear me!”

Harry was grateful to escape with Mr. Weasley. Nevertheless, they spent several uncomfortable and silent moments together until Arthur finally summoned two glasses and a bottle of port. Arthur cleared his throat, poured the wine, and passed a glass to Harry. “Ah, look, Harry.” He took a sip and glanced away. “I just wanted to let you know that Molly and I…we, ah, well, you know, we think of you like one of our own. And we may not understand-“

“Don’t.” Harry winced. This conversation had the potential to be more painful than the ouroboros’ bite.

“Harry, please.” Arthur finished his port with a few swallows. “We may not understand what is going on, and we may not agree with all your decisions, son, but…we do want you to be happy. Safe, and happy.” He gestured to Harry’s untouched glass. “Are you allowed…I mean, can you…er,”

Harry found he couldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. “He…Draco…gave me full leave to do as I like…tonight.” As he said the words, their meaning truly struck him. He downed the glass and held it out for a refill. 

Arthur poured liberally. “You are safe, aren’t you, Harry? Because, well, Hermoine and Ginny have been doing some research at the ministry, and we are all reacquainting ourselves with Ancient Wizarding Laws. Not that we’ve recovered anything of use yet,” he babbled. “But, we will...And the Ministry, well, we’ve got so many ties, everyone is pulling for you. And…and if you’re being hurt…there’s a chance we may be able to...”

Harry flushed. “They shouldn’t..I mean there’s no need…it’s not necessary,” he stammered. 

Arthur interrupted. “ But, well, the point is, are you alright? We all know what the Malfoys are capable of, and if you’re being…abused-“

“No!” Harry found his voice and was so vehement that he nearly choked on his wine. “No.” he repeated, a bit less forcefully. He blinked and tried to process his racing thoughts. After a minute, he realized how quiet the home had become. Too quiet. He turned toward the doorway, poking his head around the corner. There, the remainder of the family stared back sheepishly. “The rest of you may as well come in; that way I only have to say this once.”

When the entire family had crammed themselves into the kitchen (Ron and Hermoine both managed to snag front-row positions), Harry stopped running his hands through his hair and started wringing them instead. He stared down at his shoes…nice, Italian, leather shoes he would never have picked out for himself but had been purchased for him by Draco, just like everything else he was wearing, right down to his pants. He suddenly was aware of how he probably looked to them-like a stuck up prig, in expensive trousers and a cashmere sweater with a collared shirt underneath. Like Draco’s lackey. Like a poncey git. He slid his finger under his collar, feeling clammy and hot. Feeling humiliated. And surprisingly, somewhat aroused. Damn conditioned responses. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hoped that no one noticed. 

Harry cleared his throat and began. “Obviously, we’re all in…this uncomfortable situation, and…it’s hard to just set everything aside and pretend like-“

“Like you didn’t just disappear off the face of the planet for a year, and then reappear on the short-end of Malfoy’s leash?” Ron broke in bitterly.

“Ron!” Hermione grabbed his arm to shut him up and made apologetic eyes at Harry.

Harry flushed deeply, and stammered until he realized that Ron likely thought he was speaking metaphorically, and had no idea how he’d spent the evening of the Malfoy Yule Party. “No, he’s right. I did disappear, and I told some pretty big lies to cover my tracks. The thing is…the thing is…” The only person who didn’t seem hung on his every word was Fleur, who was busy picking at her fingernails. “Well, it’s damn embarrassing! And I didn’t want you to think of me this way. And I thought I could hide it from you and everyone else. I mean, hell, it’s my personal, private, life!”

“Not when you don’t keep it in the bedroom,” Percy muttered, loud enough for Harry to hear it.

“Oh, come on, Pers, like you don’t have any skeletons in your closet…” Bill defended.

“I didn’t sell myself into slavery and then parade around in public and get my name in the paper!” He seemed quite flustered just saying the words out loud. 

Harry interjected before anyone else could speak out. “Do you think that either of us intended for that to happen?!”

“Malfoy-“ Percy began to argue.

“Draco,” Harry emphasized, “is not the person we all thought he was.”

“Now I know you’re under the Imperious!” Ron grumbled.

Harry ignored him. “I didn’t say he was a saint! I just mean that we all made a lot of judgments about each other without being familiar…without knowing…the big picture. That’s all. And maybe you all don’t know me as well as you thought you did.”

“Obviously.” Ron snorted. It was clear that while the others were shocked and disapproving, Ron was battling some other emotions. Likely, he was still licking his wounds, feeling abandoned and distanced by his long time best-friend.

“I’m not looking for your approval.” Harry looked at Ron, Molly and Hermione in turn. “I’m just asking you to…accept a decision that I made for myself, and whatever consequences arise, I’m the one who has to suffer them... And I want you all to treat me like a normal human being, and not like the ghost of someone I used to be.”

“Oh, Harry!” Molly gushed.

Hermione looked askance at her, then to Harry. “We’re all just concerned for you. We’ve seen how they treat their house-elves, Harry.”

“I am not a house-elf!” Harry looked affronted. “And Mas…er, Draco is nothing like L-Lucius.”

Hermoine opened her mouth again but Harry held up his hand. “I refuse to comment further about their differences, and frankly, none of you would appreciate the comparisons that I’m not really at liberty to make, anyway. This is awkward enough knowing that all of you have thought explicitly on my…situation. But let’s not make this into the holiday-that-everyone-contemplated-on-Harry’s…er, private affairs. Think how you would feel if I was standing here speculating on the intimate details of your personal relationships…”

“What you and Malfoy have is hardly a relationship,” Ron scoffed. “He thinks of you as property, mate!”

“Technically,” Harry said with surprising ease. “I am.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and folded his arms over his chest. The action sent a pained tingle through his nipples and up his spine. He resisted shivering. “But He’s obviously brought me here to share the Holiday with all of you, so he can’t be all bad, right? What ulterior motive lurks there, Ron?”

“Who knows? It’s Malfoy.” He grumbled. “Maybe you made some kind of deal.”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t even know I was coming until I was practically on your doorstep.”

Fred snickered and elbowed George.

“Coming!” George giggled, ignoring several sharp looks.

A hint of a smile perked on Harry’s face. At least there was someone, or rather two someones he could count on not to take things so seriously. Comforting. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed them. “Well… Now, you all know what I’ve been up to, er, more or less, for the last year, but I’m really in the dark for all of you, and I’d much rather make that kind of small talk, wouldn’t you all?”

There was a rumble as everyone murmured their assent. 

“Ron, have you got a jumper I could borrow?” Harry pulled the cashmere sweater over his head and folded it over his arm. “I feel like a ponce.”

Hermoine nodded and smiled at him, and the dark look in Ron’s eyes faded slightly. “You look like a ponce,” He agreed. Hermione nudged him and he sighed with resignation. “Come on, I think I still have a few things small enough to fit you….” He turned on his heel. “I…I’ll tell you about all the fun you missed out on in Auror training.

The twins groaned loudly. “Woe is me, ickle Ronnie! Not that story again!”

“Molly!” Harry called over his shoulder to her as he followed after Ron. “Don’t let your dressing burn, that was always my favorite part!”

“Holy Helena!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands to her face. “The dressing! The yams! All of you, out of my kitchen now, shoo, shoo, shoo!”

 

 

 

After Harry’s diatribe, everyone made a conscious effort to not made uncomfortable references to Harry’s recent on goings, except for Ginny, Fred, and George, who all seemed torn between finding the situation oddly amusing, and deeply fascinating. Bill, Fleur, and Percy remained rather detached, but Harry had never been exceptionally close with them anyway. Molly was doting, as usual, and Arthur seemed more quiet than normal. 

Harry realized how much he missed Molly’s cooking…At dinner, he ate so much he felt like a stuffed goose himself, though he didn’t indulge in any more alcohol. He wasn’t sure what sort of things might come out of his inebriated mouth, and he was positive that Draco would not be pleased to find him in any state of drunkenness. 

“Harry,” Molly approached him as he sat on the floor in front of the fire with Ron, Ginny and the twins. “We exchanged gifts this morning, but I had a feeling…I mean, I hoped that you would make it today. I suppose could have shipped it. Anyway …this is for you.” She handed over a large box with a bow.

When Harry accepted it, he knew immediately what was inside. It was green, and had a big, red “H” on the front. He grinned and donned it right away, throwing Ron’s old blue jumper back into his face. “I missed this last year…” he admitted with a smile.

“Oh!” She said suddenly. “That reminds me! I sent last year’s sweater to The Grimmauld Place. We all sent your gifts there. You haven’t been back yet?”

Harry shook his head.

“You’re making all of us look bad, Molly!” Hermoine said. “Harry, we didn’t get you anything this year, we didn’t think we’d see you.”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t get you anything either. This is more than I expected, just to be here, actually. How did you know I was coming?” He looked up at Molly.

“She didn’t.” Ginny snorted. “Only that she owled Malfoy four times this month, and every day this week, including this morning, begging him to let you come. Even though I told her that Malfoy was probably going to beat you for it.”

“Ginny!” Molly cast her a look that said she was embarrassed to have that bit of information revealed. “Draco Malfoy is a confused and disturbed young man, but I never thought he was capable of violence like that. He…he didn’t, did he, Harry?”

“Of course not!” Harry blushed again. “He didn’t even let on…although this afternoon, he was rather annoyed by the letter…”

“I told you!” Ginny interjected.

“Well,” Molly looked chagrined. “He never did send a response. How was I to know whether or not we’d get to see our Harry? I just couldn’t imagine…what a terrible way to spend Christmas, of all days…”

“I could think of worse,” Harry said, although he wasn’t sure that he could, if he’d been taken to Christmas Dinner at The Manor instead.

 

At ten minutes to nine, Harry was laughing as the twins told the story of the inspiration, and debacles in making their newest creation: a crystal ball that revealed what the user was thinking, rather than the future. The Ball of Misfortunes, they were calling it. As it turned out, the toy had played a key role in revealing that Neville fancied Luna (in the most inappropriate way), and eventually led to their ongoing courtship, despite much embarrassment on Neville’s behalf, and thorough amusement on Luna’s. 

Their revelry was interrupted by a sharp knock to the door, that caused everyone’s heads to snap up. Ron craned his head to look out the window at the doorstep (though everyone knew who was there), then withdrew his wand, holding it in a white knuckled grip. 

“Ron, don’t.” Harry begged and suddenly looked scared. He jumped to his feet, pulled off Mrs. Weasley’s knit atrocity and began scavenging for the sweater he’d arrived in. He found it balled under one of the easy chairs, and covered in short, white hairs, most likely deposited by the kneazle-kitten than Bill had given Fleur earlier that day.

Ginny was trying to hug Harry while he was struggling to pull it swiftly over his head. “I haven’t got time!” Harry tried to reason with her as he pushed her back.

“Say your goodbyes, Harry.”

Harry’s head finally poked through the neck hole, and he smoothed his hair down, even as he turned to find Draco standing in the entryway. He looked more tired than anything else, and though his crossed arms and tense posture were likely to be perceived as annoyance by the others, Harry knew it was apprehension and discomfort. Harry couldn’t believe he’d even allowed himself to be coerced to step foot inside the Weasley home.

“Thank you.” Harry said quietly, then doled out hugs and handshakes to everyone as quickly as he dared.

“Don’t forget these!” Molly approached Harry with the sweater she’d knit, a box of chocolates that Ron had received from one of the secretaries at work (Hermoine assured Harry that they wouldn’t be missed, especially since she was putting Ron on a diet after the holidays), and a blotter of disappearing ink that the twins had found after rummaging for a bit through their old room (not wanting to be outdone). “For writing secret messages!” They said with excitement. 

“Harry can have them, can’t he?” Molly bit her lip when Harry deferred his gaze to Draco rather than holding his arms out to accept the bundle of gifts.

“Well, yes. I suppose he can.” Draco seemed surprised by the request and nodded to Harry. “Ready?” He said, when Harry had taken them and mumbled his gratitude to each of them again.

Draco made a vague gesture to Harry and allowed his slave to lead the way to the Weasley’s door. As soon as it latched behind them, Draco offered his hand up to Harry who stared down at it briefly, then hazarded a glance back to The Burrow. Between the parted curtains, he glimpsed a shock of red hair, and a sternly set jaw. Ron. He was going to be the hardest to win back; his grudge against the Malfoy family was more than traditional- it was personal, and it ran deeply.

Harry tucked his first two fingers against Draco’s palm, and as soon as Draco’s hand curled tightly around them, they were gone.


	41. Chapter 41

It was the quietest New Year's Harry had spent in a long while. Early in the afternoon, Draco had left for the Greengrasses, and though The Weasley's had sent an owl requesting Harry for the evening, Draco had declined the invitation. And so, Harry had piddled around their home, lazing for a bit before pulling out Draco's texts from Hogwarts and leafing through them. He was careful to keep the books in pristine condition; his own were dinged and bent, with many a page crumpled or torn from his rough handling and cramming into his bag between classes. 

 

The night grew long, and Harry's boredom landed him in a heap of blankets at the foot of the bed, hours before the clock on the mantle chimed midnight. He dozed on and off without falling into a deep sleep; he had grown too used to sharing the bed with Draco, and it was cold and empty without him.

 

Harry had just started to nod off again when the crack of Apparition roused him. He blinked in the darkness and fumbled for his glasses a moment before realizing that he didn't need them. Months of perfect vision, and he could still be caught trying to nudge his frames up on his face, or feeling for them in the dark from time to time. He sat up when he heard Draco giggle, bump into the couch, then curse. "Master?" Harry peered around the dressing screen just in time for Draco to cast Lumos, inches from his face.

 

"Harry!" Draco grinned and slapped a hand on his shoulder, gripping a bit too hard. "Just the man I've been looking for!" His breath was sickly-sweet, and not spiced with his usual fire-whiskey.

 

"You're drunk," Harry observed. "You shouldn't have apparated..."

 

Draco waved his hand flamboyantly and scoffed. "A mere parlor trick."

 

"Let's get you out of these clothes and into bed." Harry said, cupping his Master's elbow for added support.

 

"So you can have your wicked way with me?" Draco's eyes glinted and he danced Harry around the screen.

 

"Of course not," 

 

"Why not?" Draco demanded, curling one arm around his submissive's neck while his other arm was dutifully tugged out of a sweater that reeked of booze and smoke.

 

"What would you say in the morning?" Harry reasoned, hauling the sweater unceremoniously over Draco's head as they swayed precariously together.

 

"I'd say you missed one of the few chances you'll get at reciprocation."

 

"I must say," Harry worked the buttons of Draco's shirt. "I am quite impressed with your honesty, but moreso your diction, given your state."

 

"You seem rather eloquent yourself," Draco pulled himself closer to Harry, interrupting the declothing process to tuck his head into the curve of Harry's neck, where he began to plant innumerable tiny kisses, which made Harry's heart hammer in his chest.

 

"Kiss me!" Draco demanded, fussing Harry's hands away from his belt.

 

"Yes, Master." Harry said, and dutifully pecked the upturned lips aimed in his direction.

 

Draco grabbed Harry by the ears, preventing him from pulling away, and mashed their lips together. 

 

The taste of Draco's mouth was sweet, familiar, and decidedly girlish, but Harry couldn't place the flavor. Too, he couldn't help but lean into the kiss, and nearly toppled them both onto the mattress in the process. He caught his hand against the bedframe and pulled them both upright with a jerk.

 

"What'd you do that for?" Draco's pout was sultry, and he placed his palm flat against Harry's bare chest before giving a firm push.

 

"Er, you've still got your trousers on." Harry's excuse was lame, and they both knew it.

 

Draco loosed his hands from Harry's neck long enough to give his suit-pants a shove. They slid down around his knees, and with a very un-Malfoy-esque wiggle, they dropped to his ankles. "There." He gripped Harry's hips in turn. "Now, I fancy a shag, and you're just the bloke for the job." In the darkness, his hand easily found Harry's eager cock. "You can't even try to tell me you're not interested."

 

Harry swallowed thickly. "No, Sir. That would be a lie."

 

"No 'Sir', no 'master'. Tonight it's 'Draco', and I want to hear it on your lips when you come." With his free hand, Draco pinched Harry's cheeks between his fingers and thumb for emphasis. "Yes?" When Harry nodded, Draco kissed his pursed lips, then released his face, but gave a coaxing tug to the organ throbbing in his hand. "Take me to bed, then, and don't be stingy with the lubricant." He turned and half-lay/half-tumbled onto the mattress where he spread his knees wide.

 

Harry was still.

 

"What are you waiting for?"

 

Torn, Harry finally bent to retrieve his master's wand, and offered it to him. "Don't forget to spell me."

 

Draco kicked at the wand in Harry's hand. "I don't want to dole out orders tonight. I want a lover. Now get over here and fuck me, for Salazar's sake, before I start having second thoughts about what to do with that wand!"

 

A small smile quirk at the corners of Harry's lips. "Yes, Ma-er, Draco. Right away." Harry swallowed again, climbed onto the matress, hovering gingerly over him. "Though, if we're playing 'Lovers', you wont mind if I kiss you again..." He dipped his head and caught Draco's lips. He thought he heard Draco's breath catch in his throat as the tips of their tongues met, then danced. Draco's hand caught the back of his neck, and Harry ran his fingers up and over Draco's slender ribcage.

 

"Cherry cordials..." It dawned on Harry as he pulled back after what seemed like hours of snogging. He licked the final traces of flavor off his swollen lips and smiled.

 

"Wha's'at?" Draco breathed, clinging to Harry's upper arms and desperately trying to pull him back downward.

 

"Nothing," Harry mumbled. He scooted down between Draco's thighs and licked a stripe upward. His tongue divided the tender globes of Draco's sac, before laving a thick wet line along the underside of his straining cock.

 

"Oh, don't. I won't last!" Draco's hand in Harry's hair first pulled him forward, then pushed him away.

 

Harry bit his lip and deliberately defied him, this time swiping over the top, swirling over the spongy head, and down the other thigh. Draco sighed loudly and arched his back. Harry smiled and nipped heated skin with his teeth before gently parting Draco's buttocks with his thumbs.

 

"Lube..." Draco whispered faintly.

 

"You won't need it," Harry replied and lowered his head. Before his tongue completed it's first full circle around the furled skin there, he had Draco yowling like a kneazle in heat.

 

"Now, now, please, now...Gods...Harry..." Draco's writhing had the sheets in a tangle about him, and Harry was certain he had a bald spot, from all the yanking. Harry was rather enjoying the desperate pleas he was eliciting from his Master, but wasn't sure he wanted to press his luck any further. The longer he drew out their play, the more sober Draco became, and the last thing Harry wanted was to be tossed to the floor in exasperation. His own cock was dripping with pre-come, and he spit into his palm, then fisted himself a few times to make sure he was adequately slick.

 

"Harry!" Draco whined, and grabbed for him, catching his wrist and yanking him forward.

 

Harry toppled forward and they nearly smashed noses. "Control." Harry reminded Draco with a smile as he pushed himself up and took his time lining himself up to Draco's entrance. He was certain to pay for that retort.

 

"Hurry up, you impertinent beast." Draco hissed, narrowing his eyes. 

 

"I thought we were lovers..." Harry whispered, allowing his hips to slide forward an inch.

 

Draco gasped as he was breached. "You can-mmm, oh- love me, and still...ooooh," His eyes screwed up when Harry stroked deeper inside of him. "Know your place." His reminder seemed irrelevant now. He tipped his hips downward and lifted his back, pushing himself farther onto his slave's hard cock.

 

Harry tipped his head in acquiesence, pausing to take several audible breaths.

 

"Move. Your. Arse." Draco demanded.

 

"I can't." Harry said. "Not if you don't want me to come...ah, you're so...hot...and tight...and...Merlin!" He gasped as Draco deliberately tightened his muscles around him.

 

"Control." Draco replied with a grin. He hooked his finger into one of the ouroboros rings and tugged, elliciting something between a squeal and a groan from Harry. He pulled them together and filled Harry's mouth with his tongue before he could further respond, and soon enough, Harry's hips were lurching forward, meeting the demanding pace Draco set.

 

"Harry...Ha-Harry...stop. No, don't stop...oh, Salazar. Fuck..."

 

"Draco, Draco, Dra-ay-ay..." Harry huffed in time with his thrusts. "I can't, I'm going to...may I...can I...please..." Harry tried to slow when Draco didn't respond, but a sharp smack against his bottom encouraged him back up to speed again. He pressed his hand between them, fingers seeking to stroke Draco's cock. He found that Draco had already beat him to the task, but he curled his fingers around Draco's hand, and pumped faster. Draco's body tensed in response, and Harry couldn't control himself any longer. "Ah, ah, ah, Dray-" He finished with a gasp, plunging into his slick, hot tunnel and filling it with his sticky seed. "-Co..."

 

"Say it, say it, say it!" Draco chanted in Harry's ear, his grip on his own prick stopping, tightening just below the purpled head.

 

"Draco." Harry whispered, his head hanging low as he fought not to collapse ontop of him. He lifted his head and shuddered as their eyes met. Draco's steely eyes were heavy lidded, and stared back with unmasked passion. "Draco." Harry licked his lips. "Draco."

 

Draco took one final hitching breath and loosened his grip, allowing their mingled fingers to stroke his cock twice more. "Fuck...Har-ry!" He shuddered as hot come splashed them both.

 

"Master...Draco...I..." Harry breathed as he eased free and settled his weight to the side of Draco.

 

"Don't talk." came Draco's whispered response. He turned his body toward Harry's again. "Just hold me." Harry's toned bicep curled around his shoulders and Draco nestled down, his fingers finding cooling droplets of come on Harry's torso. He smeared them wordlessly and sighed, then summoned his wand, flicking it to draw the coverlet over them. 

 

The next time Draco opened his eyes, Harry was leaning beside him, placing a tray on the bedside table. There was a steaming cup of tea, a plate of scrambled eggs, a heaping pile of bacon, a buttered roll, and a discreet little phial with filled with a perky blue fluid.

 

"It's the last one," Harry said softly with a nod to the phial.

"Hmmm," Draco acknowledged, reaching for his tea. "And how did you know I wanted eggs?"

"I didn't," Harry replied only half-truthfully. Draco was in the habit of taking a large breakfast after a bender. "I'm happy to make you something else if you prefer, Draco."

"What happened to 'Master'?" Draco questioned, sipping delicately from his cup, and reaching for his morning-after potion.

"Last night you told me to call you Draco." Harry advised.

"And so I did." Draco said averting his eyes as he uncorked the potion and tipped it to his lips.

"About last night?" Harry said, smoothing his hand down his sweater.

"Yes?" Draco's eyelids fluttered briefly as the effects washed over him. Then he sighed with satisfaction.

Harry lifted his head. "I think I much prefer your choice of Cherry Cordials to Fire-whiskey." He grinned widely.

"Cheeky, cheeky." Draco murmured. "Sadly for you, I doubt I'll have the wherewithall to consume that much liquer again for some time. Especially that sort." He shoved away the creeping memory of Astoria repeatedly assaulting him with her matching cherry-stained lips, and the odd way Blaise had been staring after him all evening. He frowned. "Blaise didn't happen to stop by, did he?"

"No," Harry said as he knelt at Draco's feet. "Was he supposed to?"

"Not necessarily," Draco commented. "I wasn't expecting to see him at the Greengrasses soire; and I suppose I assumed he'd stop by either last night or this morning..." He shrugged, then gestured toward the breakfast tray. "You know better than this..." He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and Harry scrambled back up to fetch slippers and a dressing gown.

"Sorry," Harry apologized with downcast eyes. "I thought perhaps because of the Holiday..." He lifted the tray as Draco pushed himself to his feet. 

Draco grunted and stiffened slightly, as though something pained him. Then he smirked at Harry and eased back onto the mattress. "That's not why, you little devil." He let Harry remove his slippers and settle him back into place, all the while grinning like a jackal. "Why don't you say what you mean?"

Harry flushed. "We weren't exactly gentle with eachother. And since you're not used to..."

"It's lovely of you to concern yourself with what I am and am not used to," Draco said before lifting a forkful of eggs to his mouth. When he was finished, he laid his hands aside Harry's flaming cheeks. "The color suits you, my cheeky, cheeky Gryffindor. And when I'm finished," He held out a slice of bacon, but when Harry opened his mouth, pulled it back and ate it himself. "I think I'll indulge myself in giving you some more color."

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "Yes, Draco."

Draco quirked a brow.

"You haven't told me to call you otherwise," Harry grinned.

"Maybe breakfast will have to wait." Draco threatened. "My palms are starting to itch already."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw Christian Grey and his twitchy palm. Draco's was itchy first.


	42. Chapter 42

By the end of February, Draco was entirely over weekend lunches with Astoria in Hogsmeade; a regretable scenario proposed by Arthur Greengrass on New Year's Eve, that Draco had hastilly agreed to (simply to shut the man up) after seven-too-many cherry cordials. He stared down into his cooling tea cup, trying to recall if there was a charm that would both summon his flask from his jacket pocket, and empty it into his teacup, unnoticed by the other patrons of course.

Astoria, however, was on her third cup of coffee, and was nattering on, faster, and faster it seemed. Today, she had brought along a scrapbook she had put together for the wedding. "...and these are the linens for our tables... Daph and I battled over who would take the cream, and who would take the silver-our shared family will take the sage, of course-for Greengrass, isn't it lovely? Anyway, she insisted we divided our guests among the colors and not let them mingle too much because...."

Draco discretely yawned into his hand as the waiter approached, and he gestured for the bill. Astoria's reasoning were lost to him, but he wasn't all that interested in the first place. He had mastered the art of well timed grunts and minor comments of feigned attention weeks ago. He couldn't care less about the details of the ceremony and reception, the after party, or the brunch, because he didn't care much for the idea of marrying Astoria Greengrass in the firstplace.

"But I won that one. I knew you would much prefer the silver, yes?"

In truth, Draco would much prefer the hangman's noose. The sheen of the silver fabric was gaudy at best, and his mother would be horrified, but let her. She deserved it for allowing his father to rig this sham anyhow. "Hmm, yes, fantastic dear." He reached for the bill and penned his account to be charged. He relied on 'dear' as a pet name because it was less formal than her name, wasn't overly affectionate, and yet much nicer than the name he thought of her in his head- bloody stupid bint .

 

 

 

Astoria found it was easier to fill the void with mindless chatter than it was to face the facts. Her fiance was as interested in her as he was the cobblestones under his feet. It had been hard to accept at first, that Daphne was right about him all along; but moreso that she signed away her entire future to a cold and distant man that she had once thought beautiful and merry. If only there was a way she could go back in time and tell her stupid, girlish, immature self of just a few months ago to run, run in the other direction when her father approached her with new from the Malfoy's regarding her hand in marriage. Oh, how she had grown since then.

Daphne had wanted silver linens for the Nott's, to match his family crest. And truth be told, Astoria thought the shade was ugly. It was as grey as her future, and it made her think of Draco and his eyes, and the dismal London fog. And Draco would hate it, but he wouldn't say so. He'd tell her he loved it because it was easier to agree with everything she said than it was to pipe in with anything other than a canned response.

While Draco was paying the bill, she cast a hasty Tempus. No sense in dragging out this afternoon. She could have killed her father for suggesting they court every weekend, especially since she was developing a newfound interest in her soon-to-be-husband's best man.

"Shall we go, then?" Draco's bored tone wafted toward her after he snapped the billfold shut and shoved it away.

"Of course, my love, anything you like." Each time Astoria called him that, she watched him inwardly cringe, and there was something satisfying about it that she couldn't place her thumb on.

He helped her with her cape, and she slid her hands into the hideous Mngwa Muff that he'd given her for Christmas. True, it was expensive, and she had waved it in the faces of her fellow witches enough, but the color was sallow and dull, and not happy or bright, like any of the robes or clothes she liked to wear.

"Hmm," Astoria announced, snuffling in the crisp, cool air. "I feel like a treat...do you mind taking me by Honeydukes for a few hazlenut truffles?" She batted her eyelids and beamed at him as she took his arm. The more like a twit she acted, the more uptight Draco became wound. It was rather amusing to find that the way she'd been coached into acting in order to attract a man drove the one she'd pinned down absolutely mad.

"Of course, Dear." He agreed automatically, and processed secondly. "Hazlenut truffles did you say? Blaise's favorite." Draco scrunched his nose. I much prefer the Pepper Imps myself.

Astoria knew the truffles were Blaise's favorite. They'd had a long conversation about sweets on New Year's Eve, while Draco was busy hiding in the loo. She liked them almost as much as he did; whereas he preferred to bite into the creamy center right away, Astoria would rather let them melt on her tongue, in order to savor the rich flavor. If she played her game right, she could goad Draco into buying her an entire box of them, and then she could share them with Blaise the following afternoon when she saw him. He'd volunteered to help her with her Apartition lessons, since she'd failed to pass the test the first time. "Pepper Imps?" she made a sound of disapproval. "They burn my tongue..." She sniffled, then pulled a hand free from her muff and began to dig in her purse.

 

"Oh bugger." Astoria sighed.

"What is it?"

"I lost my hanky," Astorias shoulders visibly slumped. Draco offered his striaght off, but she pushed his hand away. "No, it was my mother's. French lace and embroidered with her initials. It must have fallen out while we were in the cafe. Couldn't you go back for it? Please?"

Draco tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket and adjusted his scarf. "I suppose I could." He gestured ahead toward Honeydukes. "Go on, and I'll meet you. It's bloody cold out here."

Astoria squealed with delight and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, as cold as he was frosty. She didn't have to watch him to know he wiped it away the moment her back was turned, like a first year afraid he'd get the mumblty-whims.

 

 

Draco rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath. Salazar, the silence was deafening, and wonderful. His boots crunched the snow as he made his way back to the spot they'd had lunch, and he apologized to the staff and asked if they minded if he looked for the lost hanky. He found it beneath her seat without a problem, but took his time and stopped by the men's while he was there, killing time, giving himself a sanity break, and taking a quick nip. He cast his own Tempus. If he could come up with an excuse to leave, he might make it home in time for Harry to take his pies out of the oven, and he could command a nice long massage while enjoying the scent of spiced apples.

Draco's mind was preoccupied on thoughts of his slave, the way they sometimes did when he was out with Astoria. He wondered if things had gone better that day in Madam Malkins while they were being fitted for robes, or if Harry would have taken his hand on the train that day, if they had made friends first off, how things might have gone differently. Wondered if they might have enjoyed the same carnal pleasures in Hogwarts that they were sharing now. "Oh, fucking hell." He huffed to himself. "You're being a bloody berk." He shook his head to clear it. "Fucking Potter was a twat before, and you made him what he is now." Obedient. Fuckable. Comforting. Harry. 

 

Draco was taken aback when a set of fingers, long and delicate as twigs,  
but with an iron-firm grasp gripped his forearm. He turned, withdrawing  
his wand to find it pointed at a grizzled old woman with one brown eye, the  
other clouded with rheum. She wore ragged, tattered clothing, was covered  
in a film of grime, and stunk of a London public loo.

 

"Dragon, take heed. The crossroads are nigh. Will you choose the prize  
where grief has past unfold, or the trophy whose fate brings you suffering  
untold?" She rasped, her good eye rolling, the rheumy one fixed on him.

 

Draco barely registered the crone's words before wrenching his hand away  
from her. He took two startled steps backward. "Get back, Witch." His  
wand trembled in his hand.

 

"Beware- a bitter seed for barren fields makes." She cackled and advanced  
toward him.

 

Draco cocked his head and waved his wand in a threatening manner. "Get  
away, or you'll live to regret it..." He did have certain reservations  
about using his wand against a crazy, elderly woman, but he'd do it for his  
own personal saftey.

 

"I'll yeild, fair one. "The crone held up her hands in defense, though she offered a dim smile.  
"Though one final warning, Child. Run from the next to call your name..."

 

Draco scoffed and as she ambled away, took several steps backward. He  
paused and glanced down at the lace handkerchief clenched tightly in his  
hand. "Barmy old bint," he muttered with a shake of his head. He tucked  
the kerchief into his pocket and turned back to his course. He'd barely  
made it halfway to Honeydukes when a low scratchy voice interrupted him.

 

"Draco Malfoy, innit?" A fingertip stabbed down into Draco's shoulder, and would have been painful if it weren't for his thick sweater and wool coat.

Draco turned and gave the most disdainful look he could muster, to the young wizard standing before him, his gold and scarlet scarf as petulantly bright and horrible as any Gryffindor scarf had been in his day. "What's it to you?"

The young wizard-who must have been a Mudblood, simply from the way he cocked back his fist and plowed it straight into Draco's nose, rather than whip out his wand-scowled. The blow was a hard one, and Draco slipped on an icy patch before landing on his arse in the middle of the slushy walk-way. His head smacked the ground hard. "How do you like it?" The young man said.

"Oy, fuck!" Draco managed to splutter. Starbursts were popping off before his eyes and the edges of his vision getting blurry. The throbbing heat behind his eyes, radiating to the top of his head was nothing compared to the stabbing pain in the center of his face. "What in Salazar Slytherin's name are you on about? Do I know you?"

 

"I'd be surprised if you did...but now you and the world will both recognize me, the Savior of the Savior...Magnatius Yebezner...You're going to pay for what you've done to Mr. Potter, and Mr. Potter's good name." He whipped out his wand, and Draco could only blink and try to focus on the tip, the hand that came up to staunch the blood flow from his nose faltering and hovering mid-air.

 

The wand was waved in a threatening fashion, before settling back into place."No time for conversation...Say goodbye, Mr. Malfoy....Aveda-"

 

There was a brilliant green light, and then Draco Malfoy's world descended into blackness. 

 

The soft rustle of papers made Draco's head ache in a way he'd never known before, and his resultant groan made it four thousand times worse.

 

"Well, well, well. If my young patient hasn't finally come to..." A cheery voice veritably boomed.

Draco winced.

 

"Oh yes, quite the swollen head you've got there...literally." The voice laughed softly. "Know where you are? Who you are?"

 

Draco tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. "Draco." He managed. "Malfoy." There was an approving hum. "St. Mungo's, I'd guess. Or Dante's Inferno." Each syllable brought a new wave of pain and he gagged into the bin that was rapidly produced and thrust before him.

 

"Good. I'm Healer Fargas, and you're going to feel like crup-shite for the next few days." The papers rustled again. "Broken nose, concussion, and several ample doses of wounded pride, I'd imagine. Now that you're awake, I can administer a few potions to make you more comfortable, and Auror's Weasley and Bartleby have a few questions for you. As they do, I'll send someone in with a few potions to make you more comfortable....Aurors..." With a swish of robes, Healer Fargas was replaced by an oppressive presence.

 

"Mr. Malfoy." Ron Weasley's voice was unmistakable, and filled with a mixture of amusement and contempt.

 

"Oh, sod off!" Draco sighed.

 

"Makes my job easy. Let's go, Bartleby. Suspect...is...uncooperative...declines...interview." Ron intoned as he scribbled loudly.

 

"No. Wait!" Draco's eyes slitted open. "I- Wait, what? Suspect? Suspected for what? You bastard! I'll-" he heaved again, in a rather undignified manner.

 

"Did I say 'suspect'? Whoops. Meant 'Subject'." Ron grinned and handed over the waste bin.

"You had better tell me what is going on..." Draco wiped his mouth, gripped one bed rail tightly and drew up the bed sheet with the other. "I nearly bloody died!"

"Why don't you give us your account and we'll take it from there?" Bartleby suggested.

Draco was reluctantly complacent, and recounted his afternoon, between doses of various potions and salves administered by a plump, brunette medi-witch. "Now someone had better tell me who exactly that nutter was, and how it came to be that I was on the pointed end of his wand while he was tossing about Unforgiveables..."

"Harry Potter's biggest fan," Bartleby said with an eyeroll. "Been stalking him for years now. Luckily, the ministry had a heads up things were going sour with that one. Been overheard making threatening statements on your life for a few months now, since the news broke."

 

"And just how long were you planning on letting it all play out before you did something to protect me?" Draco demanded.

"About this long." Ron admitted with a superior smile. "You're lucky we saved your arse at all, could have been a few moments later you know. The ministry would have backed up our actions."

"Screw you and screw the ministry." Draco scowled. He pushed himself upright in the hospital bed, gripping the rails tightly while his head throbbed and his vision swam.

"You shouldn't-" Ron began, holding a hand out in warning.

Draco's dark look shut him up immediately. "Don't you dare tell me what I should and shouldn't do, you...you...sad excuse for an Auror." He fumbled for words as he swung his legs onto the floor.

Ron glanced askance at his partner, who nodded and silently left the room in search of the medi-witch. Draco failed to notice as he unashamedly stripped off the hospital gown and stalked about the room, searching for his clothes and wand. He finally located his trousers and was examining them for signs of damage, when he happened to catch sight of Ron gaping at him. Draco's scowl turned into a leer. 

"Get a good look, Weasley?"

Ron's face turned a deep shade of crimson, almost immediately, and he stammered wordlessly.

"Don't worry." Draco slid into his pants fluidly. "I won't tell Granger I caught you oggling my goods." He leaned forward and snatched his shirt up, pausing to run his hand up his torso. "Maybe now you know what Harry sees in me." Ron's resultant shudder made his smirk grow wider and he delighted in taking his time to do up the buttons.

Ron opened his mouth to finally respond, but his delayed response was hindered by the medi-witch bustling into the room. "Oh no, Mr. Malfoy! You had better get back into bed!"

He waved her off with a flippant remark. "I've had hangover's worse than this..."

She frowned. "You've had a bad upset, you're not thinking right. I'm going to get Healer Fargas. I do think you've got a nasty concussion..."

"These two are a greater threat to my life than a sodding concussion," Draco informed the medi-witch. He felt his nose for swelling and decided all was right. "Get Fargas." He agreed. "Tell him to sign my discharge, before I take leave without it." The witch spun on her heal and hurried off in a tiff.

"Malfoy." Ron plied. "Seriously. Sit down. Before you end up on your arse again. I don't need the ministry breathing down my neck if you fall."

"Maybe you do!" Draco snapped with irritation, wincing as his tone reverberated through his head and made his eyeballs throb. "Maybe what you need is a good and thorough investigation of your skills and your tactics..." He jerked his arm away when Ron reached for him.

Bartleby laid a hand on Ron's shoulder and an odd sort of look passed between them. "Alright," Ron said to him. Bartleby's eyes widened and he quirked his head to one side. "Alright, I said." Ron grumbled. He turned back toward Draco and gestured toward the bed. "I'm sorry. Will you sit down? I believe we owe you a bit of explanation."

Draco gave one final glare before moving toward the visitor's chair. He sat down and began pulling on his socks. "You have five minutes."

"We couldn't alert you to the situation because you're practically a social recluse-"

"I am socially elite." Draco clarified.

"Face it, you're a recluse. You're almost never seen publically."

Draco glowered. "And I wonder why that is, Weasel. Perhaps because directly after the last time I saw you here, there was this little write up in the papers, that precludes the public seeing me favorably...including yourself, I do believe."

Ron spread his fingers pragmatically. "Alright, Malfoy. Look. We have a history of hating each-other. It's difficult to let that go, especially given the circumstances..."

"The circumstances being that I am fucking your best friend, and you don't like it?"

"The circumstances being that your sense of entitlement has allowed you to procure paperwork indicating that you own my best friend, and I can't think of anything more wrong-" Ron's voice was starting to carry again when Bartleby put a hand on his shoulder again. Ron drew in a sharp breath, closed his eyes, and let it out slowly. "Are we going to do this again, or are you going to allow me to fill you in on the situation as it was?"

"By all means." Draco drawled, lifting one ankle to the opposing knee and pulling on a boot.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Healer Fargas interrupted.

Before he could continue, Draco lifted his hand, halting him. "You cannot hold me against my will. Draw up my discharge. I am fully aware of the consequences of leaving your care." The healer stared at him, then decided it wasn't worth the fight, shrugged, and turned away. "Go on." Draco instructed Ron, letting his foot drop to the floor and lifting the other to shoe it.

"We couldn't go on hear-say; we were never able to nail down Yebezner and hear him make the threat himself. The only thing we could do was let him come to you. We've been watching him, watching you for weeks. But we couldn't get him to move...what I mean is that he was biding his time, and by then he'd clammed up and wasn't talking...you've been tailed by one of our details every time you make an appearance. Luckily, you've been fairly predictable of late. We had no idea he was going to threaten you today. Infact, if you hadn't stopped to talk to that beggar woman- which was surprising for you too..."

Draco sucked in a breath. The woman. What was the last thing she'd said to him? Run from the next to call your name. He hadn't run, but if he had...His thoughts jumbled and piled up on one another, his heart and mind suddenly racing together. What else was it that she'd said? Trying to recall made his brain ache, and the room swirled again.

"Malfoy?" Ron stopped talking and questioned with concern. "Alright there?"

"The crone." He breathed, rubbing his hands over his face and then gripping the arms of the chair as though he would pull himself up, though he remained sitting. "Did you question her? Who is she?"

"We haven't looked for her yet, Malfoy. The concern was on you. As soon as we realized what was happening, we sprang into action. Barely got there in time...er, as you know. Luckilly, we were able to hex him on the fly- froze him in mid-air and he couldn't finish you off. But by then, you'd fainted anyway."

"I didn't 'faint'." Draco protested. "I've got a bloody concussion."

"Merlin, the blood..." Bartleby acknowledged.

"Yes," Ron agreed. "There was so much blood, we weren't sure what was going on, and we brought you right here for treatment, and we've been waiting for you to come to since then."

Draco dropped his second foot to the floor and stood then. "Well bravo to you then, Auror of the year awards for you both." He scowled. "Bet you think I owe you a bloody life debt or something. Well you can forget it." He snatched up his coat, then stood looking at the dried blood crusting his lapel. "Shit." He shook his shirt sleeve, but when his wand didn't fall from it, patted his pockets down, looking bewildered.

"They take them when you're admitted," Ron reminded. "Tergeo," He waved his wand and cleaned Draco's coat for him.

Draco's mouth formed a thin line, and after a minute, he grumbled his thanks. Then, Healer Fargas returned with the corresponding paperwork, and Draco's wand. 

"Can I ask where you're off to in such a hurry?" He offered a quill and indicated where Draco should sign.

"I have to see Ha-" he risked a glance toward the pair of Aurors who were smoothing their robes in anticipation of departure. Ron's eyebrows lifted distinctly. "I've got to get home. Important business there, that's all."

"Well, best of luck to you, Mr. Malfoy. I must add that you are leaving against advisement of the medical community, and because of this, I encourage you to return at any time, if you feel ill at all. I want you to continue the next three doses of this-" He held up a snotty looking grey potion. Draco recalled it was the one that tasted like burned pigeon feathers, or rather what he imagined they would taste like. "It will minimize any brain swelling you might have incurred. And you should rest, but try not to sleep for the next eight hours or so. No strenuous exercise or spelling."

Draco delivered his well-practised grunts of acquiesence until the doctor was on his merry way. He turned, surprised to see the Aurors still waiting for him.

"Malfoy." Ron said. "Perhaps you ought to check back on the Greengrass girl before you go home. We did send someone to alert her, but if you're taking leave, you might want to....well, I know how women can be." 

Astoria. Draco groaned with all of his being. The last thing he wanted was to wrap up loose ends with her, which would likely take all night. No, better to send an owl, and use sickness as an excuse. "I think I'll go home, but thank you for your concern." He shrugged in to his coat, then turned to face the pair one last time. "Which of you was it, who saved me?" He began to offer his hand toward Bartleby, who shook his head, then jerked it toward Ron.

"It was him." Bartleby admitted. "I was at least twenty paces farther away. My spell wouldn't have reached you, even if I'd cast one."

Draco's eyes widened in awe. "Weasle-y?" He turned the insult into his name at the very last second. "Auror Weasley." He coughed. It wouldn't do to drop his hand now. He swiveled it toward him, and was surprised by Ron's strong grip. He cleared his throat a second time. It pained him to say this, but he had claimed to be socially elite, and now decorum was calling for him to follow through. "....Thank you."

"Malfoy." Ron returned with a nod of his head. "Can we escort you home? Wouldn't want you to splinch yourself after all the trauma."

Draco blinked. It was a fair point. "Well, yes. I suppose you can."


	43. Chapter 43

Draco slipped inside the door and closed it gently. He turned and paused, searching automatically for his sole source of comfort. Harry was in the kitchen. Brilliant green eyes flashed in his direction, and suddenly, Draco's world was crashing for the second time in hours. The magnitude of what had happened to him realization of all that he stood to lose hit him like a load of bricks in the stomach. His hands started to tremble, and then he felt a bit light headed. Draco leaned back against the door, then slid down it to sit on the floor.

Harry made his way over. "That bad, was it?" He crouched as he gently teased Draco, and what he probably thought was typical melodrama. But then, Draco loped an arm around his neck and pulled him in tightly. His breath was erratic: multiple short staccato bursts punctuated every so often by a deep hitch.

Harry tried to shift into a different position-he couldnt have been very comfortable the way his neck was craned, and with his weight bore largely on his bended left leg- but Draco's grip was unrelenting. "What's wrong? Harry questioned.

For a long while, Draco was silent. Finally, he licked his lips and loosed his hold on Harry enough that the subordinate could lower himself into Draco's lap. Draco glanced at him, then away. "There was an assassination attempt in Hogsmeade today."

Harry's eyes widened. "Merlin, who was it? Dumbledore, Kingsley?"

"Me."

"What?" Harry was on his feet before Draco could blink. "Are you alright? You should get to St. Mungo's..."

Draco nearly laughed in spite of himself. "I've already been." At Harry's look, he fished into his pocket and held out the potions Fargas had given him to take over the next few days as proof.

Only then did Harry settle himself. "Are you alright?" He asked again as he took the potions and put them on the table. "Don't sit on the floor, Sir. Here, I'll help you." He tried to lift Draco like a bride over the thresh-hold.

Draco had to push him away. "Don't hurt yourself. I'm fine. A concussion." He used Harry's hand as leverage to pull himself up. He let himself be helped to the sofa; not because he needed it, but because Harry did. "Broken nose...looks good though, eh?" He tipped his head up and forced a smile. "Worst part was the AK..."

"The what?" Harry's eye's narrowed suspiciously. "The Avada..." Draco trailed and Harry's eyebrows shot into his hairline. Draco continued before his slave had a stroke. "That was as far as he got though. I was..." he sniffed. "Saved by a few duty-bound Aurors." He smoothed his shirt, looked around, and sighed. The moment had passed. "I was just...realizing what I nearly lost, that's all." He gestured widely, then reached a hand forward, tucked his fingers into Harry's hair, and brushed it gently. "Come." He widened his arms again, and Harry was nestled against him before Draco could blink. Draco contined to pet him, and pressed a kiss against his forehead. It was some time before either of them had any inclination to move.

Draco made an obligatory visit to his parents later in the evening, and on his return, carefully penned a letter to Astoria. The remainder of the evening was spent in quiet embrace and reflection. They retired to bed late, after the fire had died down on its own. Draco curled against Harry's back, slipping a hand around him. He touched his slave pensievely, feeling the familiar weight and heat of his errection bloom against his hand. That too was it's own sort of comfort, and though Draco was in no mood for sex, he continued to idly stroke him. After awhile, his fingers stilled, but it was even longer before his clutch loosened.

 

 

Harry laid awake for sometime, straining to remain still and not rock himself to completion in Draco's light grasp. To distract himself from the throbbing, he let his thoughts stray widely. He pondered what could have happened, had Draco not been saved in time...allowed himself to selfishly wonder what might have become of him. Would his care have reverted to Lucius and Narcissa until his contract was out, or would the document be considered void? Where would he have gone then, and what would he have done? Would anyone understand his grief? His stomach began to churn at the thought and he had to push the thoughts aside. He forced himself to think of Ron instead. He began to wonder if Ron would ever forgive him for ditching him last moment...for nearly a year, it had been all they'd talked about...becoming aurors together...Harry supposed the idea had build up a little too much in his brain. Being a crime fighting super hero was fun on paper, but when faced with the prospect in real life, he felt he'd bitten off more than he could chew. Besides, saving the world once was more than enough public service, wasn't it?

 

Ron would get over it, in time Harry decided. It would take Hermione's convincing, and even she would come around, if he could prove to her he wasn't nearly as bad off as a House-Elf... Harry finally drifted off, imagining himself standing by Ron's side at his wedding to Hermione- a promise he'd once made that he was sure he could keep.

Harry woke up to the sound of clinking china, and for a moment, he was very disoriented. He was groggy and tired still, and it took him another long moment before he could pull his head from the pillow. He lifted his shoulders off the mattress and squinted. Draco was sitting on a chair at the foot of the bed, precariously balancing a tea cup and saucer on his folded knee. In the other hand, he had a small plate with a slide of the pie Harry had made yesterday on it.

"Tell me." Draco said calmly, and took a slow sip of his tea. "What's wrong with this picture?"

Harry needed only a second to process the fact that he was still in bed, while his Master, wearing his dressing robe, had gotten up and gotten himself breakfast. He floudered in the covers, nearly panicking.

Draco held up his hand with a small smirk. "Stay." And when Harry stilled, "Good boy." Draco carefully set aside the vittles and reached for his wand. Harry couldn't help but flinch when it was flicked in his general direction. Draco's incantation was murmured and incoherent, but it was clear to Harry what he'd said a moment later when coils of rope snaked around his limbs and pinned him, spread eagled to the four corners of the bed. Harry gulped as his heart began to beat in his chest.

A look of satisfaction crossed Draco's face, and he took up the pie once more beore settling on the edge of the mattress beside Harry. "Any idea how long I've been up?" He veritably purred.

Harry's eyes skittered around the room, and he assessed his Master's state of dress before responding. "Um. Ah," he licked his lips. "Ten minutes, Master?" he questioned hopefully.

Draco's eyebrow lifted and he held up his fork, which still had a few crumbs stuck to the tines. "Nearly an hour." He made a show of licking them off lasciviously before lifting the plate with the untouched slice of pie on it. "This is the third slice."

Harry swallowed thickly at the sight. "I'm very sorry."

"I'll bet you are." Draco murmured. "Hungry?"

Harry started to shake his head, but when Draco leaned closer, he caught a whiff of sweet spiced apples, and his stomach, traitorous thing, grumbled in response.

"Are you sure?" Draco scooped a fingerful of the filling out and offered it up. Harry's mouth opened automatically, and he sucked the delectable fruit off, his tongue swirling around and around Draco's fingertip until there was no flavor but that of skin and soap.

Draco swallowed as he pulled his hand free. "Good, isn't it?" He commented, dipping his face even nearer. Before Harry could answer, Draco licked a small glob of the sticky apple filling from the corner of Harry's mouth, then ran his tongue between Harry's parting lips. Harry caught himself straining against his bonds when Draco pulled back from the kiss.

There was a mischevious look on Draco's face as he gazed back at Harry, then dipped his finger back into the pie. He painted a sticky, serpiginous line from Harry's lips, over his chin, down the left side of his neck, and into the hollow of his throat. "You are a very messy boy." he whispered. Harry watched as Draco's pupils dilated and his adam's apple bobbed.

"Yes, Master." He agreed.

The plate of pie was discarded somewhere in the mess of blankets. Draco's mouth and tongue were ravenous, and devoured Harry's hot skin along with the cinnamon and apples. His lips worked back up the spit-cleaned trail and he claimed Harry's mouth again. 

The ourboros began to thrum, signalling Draco's satisfaction with the current endeavor, and Harry's nipples tightened around them from the vibrations. As if sensing Harry's shift in focus, Draco pulled back once more. He licked his own red, wet lips, and glanced downward. Then he placed one thumb directly over Harry's left nipple, feeling the ring there buzz for himself.

"Do you like the presents the I gave you?" He crept lower on the duvet, keeping his eyes on Harry while he grazed his teeth against the pink bud.

Harry groaned and let his head, which he had craned to maintain eye contact with his master, fall back against the pillow. "Mmmm, yessssss." He arched his back, trying to encourage Draco to do it again. He practically swooned as a finger hooked the other ring and tugged roughly; a deep contrast in sensation from the delicate nibbles Draco was administering to the other nipple. 

Draco took his time working down Harry's torso; and Harry could hardly hold himself in check. He panted and writhed against the sheets; strained against his bonds in an effort to offer his body up. Draco's ministrations were torturous. His touch was too much and simultaneously not enough. He was deliberately ignoring touching Harry's prick, which bobbed up proudly, almost begging. When Draco dipped his head lower, licking the sweat from Harry's trembling thighs, the blonde hair teased and tickled him.

"Please, oh, please..." Harry whispered.

"You're not supposed to be enjoying this, you know." Draco shook his hair back into place as he sat up. His eyes sparkled in a way that made Harry's cock twitch. "You're being punished for being lazy, and ignoring my needs."

Harry closed his eyes, swallowed, and nodded. "Yes, Master. Please punish me as I deserve."

"You'll get your punishment." Draco promised, and bobbed lower again. Then, the gong of the wards sounded. Draco scowled between Harry's thighs. "Well, perhaps we'll both suffer, then." He licked the underside of Harry's cock from root to tip, then scrambled off the bed. The gong sounded again as he stuffed his legs into yesterday's trousers. "Be silent." He advised, and disappeared beyond the screen, leaving Harry to suffer alone.

 

 

Astoria stood just inside the door of the Whispering Owl cafe, pulling her gloves off as she scanned the room for Blaise Zabini. They had a standing date- well, likely he wouldn't think of it as a date, as much as an Apparition Lesson. Like Draco, she'd failed her first attempt to pass the test, and was relying on Blaise's help to assure she passed the next time. Bu,t Astoria had come to think of this and her encounters with Blaise as dates, if only because they were infinitely more date-like than an outing with Draco ever was. 

Blaise was a true gentleman. He listened to her when she talked, laughed at her jokes, and even told them in return. He showed a genuine interest in her affairs and offered his esteemed advice about dealing with her fellow students and Hogwarts teachers. Plus, she thought she caught him looking at her a few times, the way she'd once hoped to be looked at by Draco; sidelong, assessing, followed by approval.

Blaise was tall, and fit, wealthy, and he didn't dispute his pureblood status. Why she hadn't considered him before was beyond her. There had been a rumor that there was a timeturner on hand at Hogwarts, and if Astoria had any faith that it might be true, she would have been out scouring for it every chance she got, just so that she could go back and tell her father that she would never consent to marrying Draco, and to take negotiations to Blaise's mother instead...

Finally, she saw him pull away from the counter. "Oh Thank the Gods!" Astoria came at Blaise as he approached with a steaming cup filled with aromatic coffee in each hand. No doubt he meant for a less intimate embrace, but Astoria took the opportunity to tuck herself neatly into his arms and bury her face into his chest.Then, she wailed dramatically "Oh, Blaise!Isn't it terrible?"

"Tori?" Blaise shifted to embrace her, and balance the mugs without spilling them at the same time.

"It's Draco!" She sniffed. Blaise either didn't mind, or didn't notice when she nuzzled her cheek into him, breathing in his heady, manly scent.

"What did he do this time?" he inquired, as he manuevered her away from him and nodded toward a corner table in the small cafe, where they might have more privacy. There, he helped her out of her coat and scarf, then slung his own over the back of the chair.

As they sipped their beverages, Astoria filled him in on the details of the afternoon prior, which had culminated in her being escorted back to Hogwarts by a young female Auror and interviewed at length. She hadn't seen the altercation, but she'd been well-informed of the event. She'd floo-called St. Mungo's right away, only to be informed that Draco had already left the premesis. Later that same evening, she received his owl, saying no doubt she'd heard by now, but that he was alright, sore, tired. Later, one of Hogwart's house-elves had delivered a gift basket from Honeydukes and another brief note with apologies for a disrupted afternoon.

The gesture was nice, but Astoria just knew Draco had sent it out of obligation. He could have had the decency to floo-call her. She knew his parents had a functioning floo. Frankly, she was more embarassed by the scene he had caused than anything else. A few of her fellow students had been first-hand witnesses to his near murder, and told her how he hadn't even raised a wand in defense of himself; just floundered in the snow, bleeding like a stuck pig. How like him, to just let something as serious as life and death come about and pass without even standing up for himself. What a coward. She thought about, but didn't vocalize that she didn't want to marry a coward. 

Astoria was surprised that Blaise was in the dark about what happened, especially since The Daily Prophet was sure to capitalize off the dramatic event. "Death-Eater Son Falls to Anti-Slavery Savior Supporter!" Cried the tongue-twisting headliner. Astoria could throttle Rita Skeeter...in not as many words, she had alluded that it was too bad that the maniac hadn't been victorious in his quest to rid the world of Draco Malfoy. It was almost comical, the way they made him out to be so nefarious. It was obvious that few knew him as well as she did. The role they painted with Draco as a villian was laughable at best.

Although, Astoria hadn't realized until now how much Draco was actually hated. He was most likely the biggest pariah to emerge in the wizarding society since the defeat of Voldemort. And here she was, engaged to said pariah. It made her one too, by association. If someone wanted Draco dead, who wasn't to say she wasn't next on the list?

"And, I'm just so frightened, I almost didn't come at all!" She finished in a rush. The last bit was untrue. She would have come no matter what. The thought of hanging off Blaise's arm all afternoon was too titilating.

"Well," Blaise said with a frown as he processed the information. He reached across the table and gripped her slender fingers in reassurance. "I'm glad you still ventured out to meet me for lunch. Shows your strength, and your resolution, and that you won't let this send you into hiding. And of course, I'm quite happy to see you myself." He sent her a winning grin.

"Oh, Blaise!" She stood, moved nearer, and threw her arms around him again.

Blaise smiled up at her, and Astoria fantasized that he had almost given her a kiss on the cheek. "You know I'll protect you, don't you?" He said this last part low in her ear, and she swore his lips brushed her hair ever so slightly. It sent a shudder down Astoria's spine, and in that moment, she made up her mind exactly what it was that she wanted. Just a slight tilt of her head brought her mouth away from the collar of his button-down, and against the warm skin of his throat. She could feel his pulse there, and it was racing just as fast as her own. She planted the tiniest of kisses there, but before she could deliver another, she felt Blaise's posture go suddenly stiff.

Astoria spared a glance up at him, and saw his eyes closed, jaw set firmly. "Blaise," She said with mock concern, laying her hand over his clenched fist as she settled back down across from him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." She widened her eyes innocently. "You're just such a comfort to me, a truly wonderful friend. I suppose I got carried away. You'll forgive me, won't you? Hazelnut Truffle?" She fished one out of her purse and offered it to him with a knowing smile. "They're your favorite, aren't they?"

 

 

Draco peered out the window as he hurried to the door, smoothing his dressing robe down over his errant erection. He caught a flash of Blaise's dark skin, and smiled. It was wonderful to see his friend who must have heard about the incident from the day before. As a bonus, Draco wouldn't have to feel too poorly about not bothering to dress. He opened the door, and tried to keep his smile from faltering as his eyes landed squarely on Astoria, whose small frame must have been hidden behind Blaise's larger one as Draco approached. "How wonderful to see you both!" he exclaimed, feeling his stomach sink just a bit. "I must apologize for my appearance, I'm still shocked from yesterday...do come in, won't you?

 

"Alright, Drake?" Blaise's hand thumped on Draco's shoulder as he escorted Astoria inside. "Sure you should be out of bed? Where's Harry?"

Draco's mouth twitched. "A bit tied up, at the moment." He admitted. Blaise passed him a knowing smile, but Draco was too busy staring at Astoria, who was peering around the carriage house as though she'd never seen anything like it. "Astoria!" he tried to keep himself from barking her name. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts? I mean, it is wonderful to see you, but I shouldn't want you to fall into any trouble on my account."

She offered him a wan smile. "Of course not. They understand our situation. I just had to make sure My Love was alright." Finally, she slipped from Blaise's side and embraced Draco tightly. "You are alright, aren't you?" She purred into his ear, rather loudly, and sidled her body against his like a kneazle in heat. "I know just how to make my baby feel better..." She kissed his neck, and then his cheek, but before she reached his lips, Draco pulled away, flushing. "Astoria, please. What would your father think if he knew you were here alone with me?"

She looked at Blaise askance. "We're hardly alone."

"Er," Draco was unsure what to make of the look that the two of them exchanged, but he easily dismissed it in favor of leading them to the sitting area. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go rouse Harry and he can fetch us some tea." Draco was half behind the screen before the two of them could reply in unison, "Coffee."

Draco eyed Harry, and his 'condition', before turning to the bedside table. He opened the drawer and withdrew a pot of lubricant, as well as a short, curved phallus. He placed them both on Harry's chest as he leaned over him. "Not a sound." he commanded quietly in Harry's ear, then straightened. More loudly, he announced, "We have guests. Prepare yourself." He dipped his head and licked a droplet of pre-come from Harry's slit, and roughly fondled his balls. 

Harry's hips lifted as much as they could, and though his jaw clenched, to his credit, the slave remained quiet, aside from a shakey breath through his nose. 

"Get dressed." Draco continued, fishing out a pair of trousers and nothing else. These too, he draped over Harry's torso. "I expect tea service in five minutes." With a swish of his wand, the lashings tying Harry to the bed released him. Reluctantly, Draco returned to the settee, and though he would have liked to take up the pretext of polite conversation, was forced to recount what happened to him on the way to Honeydukes. He left out the tale of the old woman, which frankly, he thought was the most intruiging detail of all.

Astoria picked up the story where Draco's had left off, and Draco found he wasn't interested in the slightest. He cast a tempus, then glanced into the kitchen area, where Harry had headed a few minutes before. His five-minute deadline was rapidly approaching, and Harry was only just pulling the tray from a cupboard. 

Draco casually flicked his wand. He heared Harry squeak momentarily, and there was a scrambling crash as he nearly dropped the tray he'd been assembling. Apparently, the plug he'd given Harry was properly in place- the charm he'd just sent to activate it's vibrations had obviously taken Harry by surprise.

"Rather clumsy, isn't he?" Astoria observed, her interest in Harry suddenly renewed.

Blaise smirked. "He tends to be, yes. It's amazing: in our day, he could out-maneuvre the lot of us on a broomstick, but put him in the kitchen and the amazing seeker is all thumbs.

"They do say talent is fleeting." Draco murmured. Shortly, Harry hustled in to provide them all with beverages. "Why, Harry," Draco drawled, eyes on his slave. "Why don't you offer our guests some of your delicious pie?" his emphasis was directed on the last word.

Harry fumbled the empty tray again, his face turning slightly pink. 

"My word!" Astoria exclaimed.

"Indeed." Blaise agreed, grinning at Harry who flushed all the more. "You're too easy on him, Draco. Graceless as ever, and not even a threat of punishment?"

"Oh, there will be plenty of punishment. Later." Draco confirmed, looking directly at Harry as he spoke.

"Will you spank him?" Astoria fretted. "I've never spanked a slave..."

"No?" Blaise seemed genuinely surprised. "How do you handle them?"

"Well," Astoria demured a moment. "Father usually takes care of the punishments. But if Xing Le was so terribly clumsy, I think we should have to teach her how to be graceful again."

"What do you suggest?" Blaise appealed to her, while Harry murmured his apologies and lowered himself to the floor, prostrating himself before his master.

"Boots." Astoria said matter-of-factly. "The ballet boots." Her eyes twinkled. "And Xing Le wears the loveliest uniform. The frock is so short, but there is enough lace to give it a nice bounce. It would help Harry to know where he was in the room, I think. With enough practice, he would become at ease in the boots, so that when you finally released him, I bet he could be almost as as graceful as Xing Le."

The way Blaise exhaled before looking at him told Draco he was much taken with the suggestion. However, Draco was not. He wrinkled his nose. "I am not putting Harry in a frock."

"You do rely rather heavily on spanking." Blaise bargained. 

"I like spanking." Draco emphasized, seizing a handful of Harry's hair in order to pull the slave's head into his lap.

"I recall." Blaise said with a smirk that conveyed more than wordsto Draco. Astoria seemed not to pick up on the reference point, but despite this, Draco shot him a hateful look.

"I'll thank you to leave his punishment to me. Now, shall I send him for treats, or you alright with your tea?"

Blaise stared at him defiantly a moment longer, then looked down at his cup and saucer. "I thought I asked for coffee."


	44. Chapter 44

Alexei was waiting at the door for him, but Blaise ignored his slave and headed to the bedroom, alone instead. Blaise couldn't remember the last time he'd had a true and solo wank...it may very well have been years. But here he was, in his bedroom, having dismissed Alexei so that he could tug his prick, and fantasize about his best friend's fiance without the experience being clouded by his and Alexei's familiarity with one another. No, here it was just him, and the idea of Astoria and her perfect little body, which she had pressed against him enough times for him to know what lay beneath her robes. And Merlin, but if she didn't have the perkiest little tits...he would bet galleons that her quim was just as small and tight. He thrust into his fist and imagined it was her...all soft fluttering touches, and wispy trails of blonde hair, and breathy sighs. 

 

Blaise didn't have the patience for drawing it out too long...he jacked himself quickly and came with a single muffled groan, leaving gobs of sticky come on his own chest. He thought about calling Alexei in to clean him, but reconsidered. How insulting to be passed over for sex, but called in to clear away another man's fantasy. He dug out his wand and waved it over himself, then laid on the barely rumpled coverlet thinking in earnest. 

 

Blaise had inquired of Astoria on the activities of the Slytherin Common Room, and was surprised to find that Snape had put an end to the debauchery following an unexpected pregnancy, and due parental complaint. It was no wonder then, that she had spent the afternoon flirting with him, whether it was intentional or not. Like any normal teenager, she had needs. Needs that were not elsewhere being fulfilled. Needs which Draco was not likely to fulfill either. More's the pity...all that young and nubile flesh would go to waste...

 

Unless...but no. Astoria would have to remain a lofty fantasy. Draco was his friend, and friends did not carry on affairs with eachothers spouses. Not even Slytherin friends. Not even if she begged for it...well, maybe if she begged for it. Bugger, but that was another fantasy altogether. Blaise always was a sucker for a pretty face with a pout.　

 

 

 

 

Astoria smiled to herself as she pulled off her cloak and shook loose her hair. She considered the afternoon a raging sucess. Draco was not physically maimed from his experience, and she had managed to niggle him with her visit, all the while getting closer to Blaise. He'd hugged her before depositing her off at the Hogwart's Gates, and she was certain she felt his erection press into her lower abdomen. It sent her confidences soaring. She would not die an untouched virgin, and moreso, she would not wed as one either.

 

She had been a foolish child to entertain the idea of being in love with her husband. Everyone knew that purebloods did not marry for love. Daphne was an exception, and even if she was going to spend the rest of her life lording her mutal affections with Theo over her, Astoria was certain that with Draco on her arm and Blaise in her bed, she would come out ahead in the long run.

 

Astoria paused in front of the mirror and practiced her pout. "Please, Blaise! Show me what it's like to feel loved, just once..." She pantomimed with her hands clasped together. A slow smirk followed. Yes, that would do nicely.

 

 

 

 

Harry fought not to roll his eyes as he watched from demurely lowered lids, his Master across the table. Draco was sipping his boiling hot tea as quickly as he could muster. It was the third time this week that he'd been dragged off to a different tea house and plied with pastries and petite fours until Draco grimaced his way through a scalding cup of black tea before thrusting the empty cup at Harry so he could pick images out of the dregs in the bottom. Draco had decided that he had become so intimately familiar with the meanings of the symbols that analyzing them himself would somehow taint the results and he would see what he wanted to see.

 

Draco passed his cup to Harry and looked on anxiously while Harry set his own barely touched cup aside on the sauce. "Um..." Harry stared at the leaves. It didn't help that he thought it was bollocks...all of it. Fortune telling, tea leaves, prophecies... "A Cheshire cat, a bicycle horn, and a pile of thestral droppings." Harry barely managed a straight face as Draco grabbed the cup back and peered in himself.

"You're having me on!" Draco accused with a glare.

"Alright." Harry confirmed, pushing his limits. "All I see are thestral droppings."

Draco's look darkened. "This is important!" He hissed. "If I hadn't suffered a head wound, I might have remembered what that old witch said to me, word for word. Instead, I'm stuck with bits and pieces...prizes, harm, barren..choices. Fuck, Harry. This is my life we're talking about here!" He slammed the cup down on the tabletop loud enough that other patrons turned to look. "Tell me what you really see, or I'll have your hide!"

Harry sighed. He picked up the cup and cocked his head again. After spending what he thought was a more appropriate time studying the wet leaves, he inched his chair closer to Draco and indicated with the tip of his pinky finger. "I really did see a cat, just there. And a horn, here. Those dots there..."

A sound of exasperation escaped Draco and he pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and a minature quill that he used to scribble the symbols down.

Harry knew that later, Draco would pour over his divination textbooks, the way he had been every night for two weeks, and then he would send out his poor owl with several letters, appealing to various masters of fortune telling, begging them to schedule him in for a session. Draco had returned to look for the rheumy witch twice, but to no avail. Harry thought he was grasping at straws.

 

 

 

 

Harry had the unfortunate circumstance of being correct. That evening, Draco was ignoring his dinner on the table in favor of frantically sorting through a pile of papers. He growled in frustration, and it startled Harry out of his bored daze at Draco's feet. "Can I help you find something, Master?"

 

"I can't find my ruddy journal...the blasted thing!" He scowled and picked up a pile of paper debris, shoving it aside forcefully.

 

Harry got to his feet, and within moments pulled the book from beneath Draco's blotter. He set it in Draco's hands then crossed to the sofa where he sat down and leaned his head against the arm. He stared after Draco almost forlornly. "Aren't you going to eat your dinner, Master? It's getting cold."

 

"No..." Draco drawled, his lips pursed as though he were going to say something else, but as he flipped through the journal, he was once more lost in his thoughts.

 

Harry sighed miserably. He was hungry too, not that he was starving, or would waste away, but for Merlin's sake, Draco's act was getting old.

 

"Why don't you eat?" Draco said, crossing to the table. He picked his plate up, and still absorbed in his own handwriting, delivered it to Harry where he held it out to him.

 

Harry received it and looked down at it. "I will, if you like, Master. But I'd much rather your company..."

 

"Yes, of course." Draco murmured absently, and sat down beside Harry.

 

Harry stared at Draco, who continued on, unaware. After sometime, he waved his hand casually in the air. "Tea." Came his simple command.

 

Harry set the plate of untouched foot on the table with a thump loud enough to draw Draco's attention.

 

"What's your problem?" Draco scowled as he lowered his journal, his eyebrows furrowing.

 

As Harry got to his feet, he gave Draco a seething glare. "Which cup of cold tea would you like? This one?" He gestured to a china cup on the coffee table. "This one perhaps?" He crossed to the mantle, then pointed to two other cups there as well. "Or maybe this one? That one?" He gestured to the kitchen table. "Or maybe one of the three on your drawing table there, covered by papers?" Draco looked startled by the way Harry was addressing him. "You realize I've made ten pots of tea this afternoon alone, and you haven't drank but one cup. The rest you swirl and set aside, and forget while you moon over silly shapes you've seen in piles of damp leaves, as if your future is going to change in front of your eyes.

 

"Careful." Draco warned, his eyelids slitting. "You may want to change your tone, or..."

 

"Or what?" Harry challenged. "You'll change it for me? Well, I say, it will be a nice change of pace from the neglect I've suffered of late."

 

"Shut it, Harry." Draco said, taking a step toward him.

 

Harry danced backward out of reach. "I won't, either. You've holed yourself up in here, and there's no one to talk sense into you but me. You're wasting your time with divination. It's useless, and a joke."

 

"It's my bloody future, we're talking about here!" Draco's voice raised in pitch.

 

Harry tried hard not to scoff, but was unsuccessful. "You make your future. Not what you or anyone else plucks out of the air, or a crystal ball, or a pile of tea leaves. Or any other bloody stupid contraption. When have you even gotten a straight answer for any of the questions you've asked? When have you received a prediction that wasn't a riddle? Wake up, Draco."

 

"Mind your place!" Draco interjected, his face turning red.

 

"You mind it for me." Harry returned, crossing his arms. "It'll be the first you've paid any attention to me at all in a month, probably."

 

"So this is about you now?" Draco sneered, circling the sofa, as Harry went around the other way.

 

"No, it's about you. And if you'd just do something, anything, instead of sitting on your arse, waiting for your worst nightmare to come true, then you'd be a lot less miserable..."

 

"And shame my family? What the hell do you know about loyalty, anyway? You're just a fucking mudblood. A right stupid one at that."

 

Harry's eyes lit up at the vulgar word. "Right, I'm a stupid mudblood. But at least I've got the freedom of choice to do what I like with my future."

 

"Ha!" Draco parried. "You sold yourself into slavery. You haven't got any choice for the next two and a half years!" His advances were backing Harry into the kitchen where there would be no escape.

 

"And then after that, I can marry who I like, if I like. And you'll still be shackled to Astoria, if you haven't offed yourself by then. Merlin, you were always a prat, but I've never seen you so bloody despondant. It's depressing the hell out of me!"

 

"Shut up!" Draco aimed his wand at Harry, who only barely flinched.

 

Harry's back was up against the range, now. There was no where to go, not that he was truly running from Draco anyway. He knew he'd get his come-uppance for this. But so be it, if it was Draco's only call to open his eyes. His eyes flickered over Draco's flushed skin, and he pondered over the heaving of his chest, before replying. "That's right, shut me up, so you can go on letting yourself be pushed around by your family. You never were anything more than your father's lackey, were you? And how's that working out for you now?" 

 

The backhand came too fast for him to duck, and Harry felt his upper lip split against his teeth. His head was forced to the side and downward, and the force of the blow left a coppery taste on Harry's tongue. He touched his hand to his lip, and stared down at the red splashed over his fingers. He couldn't even be angry. He supposed he deserved it. His eyes flickered briefly upward, and his hurt gaze was returned by a cold steely glare. Harry's heart sank into the bottom of his stomach. Forget it, Draco was impossible to reach. And screw saving him, the stupid sod could make his bed and sleep in it too. "I..I'm sorry." Harry stammered. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head. Draco was standing so close, Harry's fringe brushed his thighs. "I forgot myself, it's no excuse, Master.

 

"God damn it, Harry." Draco whispered tightly. Harry tried to fold his body down to prostrate himself properly. If he could demonstrate himself as a decent slave again, maybe the beating coming his way would be slightly less. It had been a long time since Draco had really struck him for misbehaving. Harry didn't know what to expect.

 

"God damn it ." Draco said again, and took a step backward. Harry collapsed and pressed his forehead to the floor, even as Draco tried to hitch him up by his upper arms. "Sit up, you fool." Harry swallowed as he did as he was told. Draco crouched, then fingered Harry's lip, and the salt from his skin burned the tender, ragged edges of his shallow wound. "Look what you made me do." Draco said softly, staring at his own hand as he smeared pink tinged spit between his forefinger and thumb.

 

"Why didn't you just shut up when I said so?" Draco lamented, lowering his knees to the floor. He took Harry's head in his hands and brushed his fringe back, planting a kiss on the faint scar there. "Hmm?" he pressed, when Harry didn't respond.

 

Harry swallowed. "Someone has to save you from yourself."

 

A hopeless laugh bubbled from Draco's lips. "Idiot Gryffindors. Think they can save everyone from everything. This is my burden to bear. My family obligation. But what could you possibly know about that?"

 

"Yes." Harry said softly. "What could Harry Potter possibly know about having to meet the expectations of the masses?" 

 

Draco was quiet a long while, contemplating that. "How could I have forgotten? Yes, well. We're not all as lucky as you."

 

"It's marriage, not Vol- The Dark Lord." Harry corrected. "There's no luck involved. The way I see it, you have two options."

 

Draco gestured rudely with his own to fingers to himself. Then he sighed morosely. "Oh yeah? And what would they be?"

 

"You can continue forward, get married, and be miserable. Or you run away, and see where life takes you."

 

"Run away." Draco deadpanned as though the thought had never occurred to him. Then he looked hopelessly at Harry. "Run away?! How is that a bloody option?"

 

"Why not?" Harry shrugged and a small smile formed on his face, until the tension on his still-tender lip was too much to bear. "I did. It wasn't what I expected, but hell, it's not so bad."

 

Draco was too caught up in his own thoughts to recognize Harry's statement for what it was. "And what if I don't like either of those options, Harry? What then?"

 

"Fly." Harry slipped his arms around Draco's waist, and his embrace was returned immediately, allowing Harry to relax somewhat. Perhaps a beating was not in his immediate future afterall. 

 

"Fly?" Draco sighed and let his head fall back so he could gaze out the window into the darkness. "Father says flying is for children. I haven't been since graduation."

 

Harry made a derisive sound in his throat but bit back his comment. Better not to stir that pot again.

 

"Besides," Draco went on wistfully. I haven't any clue where my broom is anyway."

 

Harry was off and back in a moment, pulling the Nimbus 2001 from the recesses of a dark corner. He cradled it in one hand and brushed the cobwebs from it with the other before holding it out. 

 

"Brilliant!" Draco had to tug it from his grasp, and Harry realized he was staring at it wistfully, but he couldn't help it. Flying was the one thing he missed the most. Sod his wand, and bloody magic, but if he could never feel the wind on his face again, he might just die. "You want to come." Draco said; a statement, not a question, not an offer.

 

Harry looked away. "Yes." he tucked his hands behind his back.

 

"You don't deserve it, you know." Draco reminded him.

 

"I know." Harry knew it was silly, but he was fighting off tears.

 

"Come on, then." Draco said softly as he walked toward the door. "Before I change my mind."


	45. Chapter 45

Blaise told himself that it wasn't guilt but rather their long-standing friendship that led him to throw such a lavash stag party for Draco. It had required careful coordination on his behalf, and he even managed to secure an international port-key for the occasion; a feat which was not easily managed, especially when one considered the names he'd had to list on the permit; including a number of known Death-Eater offspring.

Of course, Draco had nearly ruined it right off, by refusing to accompany him anywhere without knowing where they were going. Blaise had to confess he'd organized a weekend away, and when Draco realized that Harry was meant to be left behind, he balked considerably, until at the very last minute, he managed to arrange a visit with the Weasley's for him instead. Blaise was meant to apparate with Draco to the location of the portkey, where they were supposed to be meeting up with several other "friends", which mostly consisted of former classmates, and a few other social elites that were in their peer circle. It had taken some work to round up enough blokes for a decent party. It was no surprise that Draco had managed to alienate what few friends he'd cultivated at Hogwarts in the recent years. For many, it was only the promise of free booze and a bawdy time on Blaise's dime that led to their acceptance of the invitation.

"Oh, fuck all!" Draco exclaimed in exasperation, on arrival. "You've invited Nott?" He turned on his heel, but Blaise gripped his shoulder and tightly redirected him. As it was, they managed to make it with only two minutes to spare.

First on the agenda was an upscale Turkish Bath House in Instanbul. It wasn't difficult to settle Draco down, with a tumbler of firewhiskey and the promise of a long, relaxing morning and a good massage. There was plenty of raucous and filthy banter tossed around amongst the group, and it only worsened the more the day wore on. Draco seemed oblivious to it, as the majority revolved around Astoria, though his ire had peaked at a few straggling comments in reference to Harry; still contemptuously referred to as "Potter" by everyone save himself and Blaise. It was Blaise himself, however, that was more than riled by the raunchy commentary, and he had to fight to keep himself in check. More than a few deflectory annotations by him on her behalf would give away his position, and the last thing he wanted to do was drop the ball this weekend.

Sometime between the steam bath and his vigorous rubdown, he contemplated just how he had come to be in said position: Two months prior, He had been working with Astoria, helping her hone her apparition skills. They had spent a lot of time together, and she was receptive to his council on all things, from apparition to dealing with Draco's attitude, as well as a number of other subjects. In between their heated discussions, Blaise found Astoria to be quite clever and quick witted. She was skilled at making sexual innuendos out of many topics, and by the time he'd realized she was flirting with him, it was far too late to extricate himself from the spidery web she'd woven. He was attracted to her, and more than just carnally. Blaise couldn't remember the last time he'd felt like this about anyone. What was worse was that he began inviting her advances, and courted her with small gifts and trinkets sure to make her gasp with delight or giggle over.

The first time with her had been innocent enough of a mistake. Alright, perhaps not innocent, but a mistake nonetheless...When Astoria was finally successful is passing her test, they'd had a celebratory dinner, followed by a sunset walk. "We don't have to say goodbye, do we, now that I've passed the test?" She'd turned her big round eyes on Blaise and he'd circled her shoulders with his arm.

"Of course not. We're good friends now, aren't we?" 

Her winning smile had made Blaise's pulse quicken. 

"I really appreciate everything you've done to help me, Blaise. I wanted to do something to thank you." Her arm, interlocked in his, had tightened then, and he stopped, turning to face her.

"Oh, Tori. That's really not necessary. You know, I--" Astoria stood on her tiptoes then, and pressed her mouth against his. Blaise had been so startled by her forwardness that he'd let her kiss him for a moment before he mustered up the strength to push her away. "We shouldn't-"

"Blaise, don't you want to? Don't you like me?" She'd clutched at him, batting her eyes, and he'd be buggered if he didn't want to...

"Yes," He'd gasped lowly, in response to both questions, and then he'd allowed himself to be kissed again. And then the subsequent kisses that followed were so sweet and rich, and he told himself they were only kisses. That was stupid, bloody stupid.

"Stop!" He'd finally gasped, and pulled away. "Draco's my friend..." 

And then, Astoria had been ready with a litany of reasons why Draco was a bad friend, and why Blaise was a better friend, and then, to cap it all off, she'd stuck out her lower lip,still gripping his wrist while Blaise was trying to shake her off. And if there was anything he was bollocks at resisting, it was a pretty girl with a pout. "Please, Blaise, won't you show me what it's like to be loved, for once?" They'd secreted away to the inn he always stayed at when visiting Astoria, and then he'd done the most dispicable thing he could think of- he slept with his best friend's fiance. And it was the most wonderful, vanilla sex he'd ever had. And he tried to be a martyr about it, and he wanted to feel poorly about it, but he couldn't help the feeling of elation that washed over him. "We can't do this again," He'd advised her. But then they had. She was a clever devil, that one.

Astoria had said, while batting her eyelashes, "I doesn't count as another time if we don't leave the room just yet, does it?" Of course it didn't, that made perfect sense. Blaise had made love to her twice more that afternoon. As to what happened after that, well, it could only be chalked up to feminine wiles and charms, and a wizard's one falliability. And it should have been as simple as to stop making trips to Hogsmeade, but it wasn't. Merlin help him, it wasn't easy. And now he'd made a right mess of everything, and there was nothing he could do to make it up to Draco. So instead, he bit hip lip, and threw him the best stag party he could manage.

In the late afternoon, some of the boys retired to their rooms to rest up for the evening. Draco took tea, of course, and Blaise joined him for a cup of dark, oily expresso. It was difficult, Blaise found, to look Draco in the eye and carry on as though he weren't making a royal mess of things with Astoria behind the scenes and behind Draco's back.

Luckily, Draco was oblivious. And, he was finding it difficult to enjoy himself what with the finality of his marriage looming over his head. "You mightn't have done everything up so festive." he grumbled. "Bagpipes and coffin nails might be more appropriate."

"Oh, come on, Drake." Blaise chuckled. "It's just on paper. What does it matter? She'll bear you a child, and you can smile at eachother in public, and take to separate bedrooms at night." Blaise was surprised to find himself a little irrate at the idea of Astoria producing Draco's heir, but he chalked it up instead to the heat of the afternoon sun.

"Oh yeah?" Draco had challenged. "Don't see you rushing off to marry Pansy anytime soon. What's stopping you?"

Love. Blaise thought. Oh, bloody buggering hell. He managed to shrug and give a casual smile. "My mother isn't as keen on grandchildren as your parents are..."

Draco shot him an unreadable look, but let the matter drop. It wasn't until later in the evening, at an exclusive club in Romania, catered by Vietazuls', that Draco brought the subject up again. There were a handful of exquisite female and male slave trainee's, and they had run the gamut of mildly enticing, to downright depraved things to one another. The slaves had all tried their hand at garnering the attention of the stag party attendees, and many had succeeded. Only Draco and Blaise were still unoccupied. Draco slid into the booth across from Blaise; his mannerisms were not yet ungraceful, but obviously influenced by drink, which was the only thing that had managed to make him remotely happy all day.

"You've met someone." Draco informed Blaise over the thumping music. 

Blaise choked on his drink, and Draco had the decency to thump him on the back until he regained his breath. "Say what?" Blaise finally wheezed.

"So it's true then." Draco sat back with a cockeyed, self-satisfied smirk. 

"Why would you say that?" Blaise attempted a genteel sip of his cocktail. 

"Please. You're the biggest lecher I've ever known, and now you have no eyes for the wares?" Draco gestured toward the slave trainees with his drink in hand, sloshing the contents.

"I'm busy making sure everyone else is having a good time." Blaise countered, but found he couldn't meet Draco's gaze. "Playing good host, and all that rot."

"My arse, Zabini!" Draco laughed. "You've met someone! I haven't seen you so twitterpated since you thought you were in love with Selby Selwyn in fourth year."

"I noticed you're not very interested in them yourself." Blaise pretended to be affronted and crossed his arms. "I asked specifically for dark-haired, medium skinned boys, the way you like them, too...Thankless bastard. That's what you are."

Draco snorted. "Why would I be interested in any of them when I've got-" Suddenly he stopped talking, took a gulp from his tumbler, and squared his face toward the nearest stage.

"When you've got what?" Blaise was suddenly very interested in Draco's lack thereof. He studied Draco's profile until it dawned on him. "When you've got Harry. That's what you were going to say, isn't it?" Draco's noncommital grunt was more than enough to goad him on. "Salazar-sakes, Draco! First you hate him, and now what? Don't tell me you've gone all moony-eyed over Potter."

"I'm not 'moony-eyed over Potter'." Draco murmured rather unconvincingly, even to himself. His eyes shifted away from the scene and he glared at Blaise. "I'm not!" Blaise arched his eyebrow at him. "Fuck you, Zabini. I'm not. Sure, those boys are pretty." He gestured toward them. "But they're hardly trained, and I can't be bothered to put in the effort with them." Blaise's other eyebrow went up. "What do you want me to say? I've been drinking all day, and your flagrant flaunting of my soon to be marital status has me right foul-"

"No doubt." Blaise smirked. "Maybe you're in the mood to trade places with them?" He arched his head toward the stage then grabbed Draco's wrist tightly, pulling him half over the table. "A buggering always did you some good."

Draco's eyes darkened, and it took him three solid yanks before he could pull himself free of Blaise's grasp. "Fuck off. I don't want you either." He grabbed up his drink and made to take his leave.

Blaise was not put off by the fact that Draco was no longer interested in him. In fact, his offer had been half-a bluff anyway. Draco's sour puss was certainly no turn on, and it was only their long standing habit of habit of dominating the pale blond that had him suggesting it in the first place. "Pull the stick out!" Blaise hissed, whirling Draco around to face him one last time. "It's your sodding party and you're the only one not having fun."

"My life is over, Blaise. I'm barely a man, and it's over." Draco wrenched his arm back again. "Forgive me if I'm having trouble celebrating that."

Blaise felt his blood pressure surge as his temper rocketed. "You keep saying that. Your life is over. You act like Astoria is a burden, when you should be grateful your parents went to the trouble of finding you such a beautiful and wonderful young lady who has a lot to offer, if you could just look past the end of your pointy little nose, you might see that."

"What the hell do you know about it?" Draco scowled. "She's an annoying little bint, always trying to get in my pants. Can't keep her hands off of me, doesn't know how to take a hint...it's her fault the bloody wedding was moved up."

"She nearly bloody worshiped you, you know that?" Blaise slammed his drink down forcefully. "She would have done anything for you, for a little bit of affection. Was so thrilled to have you, The Slytherin Prince, she called you." He sneered and leaned forward, grabbing a hold of Draco's shirt lapel for emphasis. "All she wanted was to have your babies and go to balls. She would have been happy to hang off your arm, pretty as an ornament. She's fashionable, and cunning, has a good head for business sense. The two of you could have been friends, at the very least, partners in marriage, if nothing else. But no, you ingrate! Instead, you sit in the corner, whinging because your sex life will have to take on a little discretion, and maybe even a little direction. While you run around in circles crying about how bad it is to be you and throwing a bloody tantrum, everyone else is scrabbling to pick up the pieces and smooth everything over to keep your family name from shame. And you don't even have the good sense to appreciate it! You know something, Draco? You're the biggest spoiled brat I've ever known. Grow up, why don't you?"

Draco's brooding look darkened to a hateful stare. "I'm spoiled?" He flicked twin V-signs at his best friend. "Maybe you had better take a good, long , hard look at yourself. You live in a villa, bought with your mum's money, hundreds of miles away from the bint, and she doesn't poke her nose in your affairs or tell you how to live your life. You're single, and you'll fuck anything that moves. You have everything you could ever want-"

"When have you not gotten what you wanted, Draco, when?!" Blaise interrupted. 

"Only the times it ever mattered the most!" Draco all but screamed. 

Several of their cohorts looked up from their various activities then. Draco scowled at them collectively, then stormed away. Blaise forced an apologetic smile, but did not go after Draco. Let the bastard sulk, he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly, before deciding that he was not going to let Draco's attitude get in his way of a good time.

It was about an hour later that he found Draco, hand curled around a bottle of firewhiskey at the bar. He was starting to slump, which meant he'd imbibed enough that he'd lost sense of his posture; always a bad sign for Draco. "I think you've had enough," Blaise said as he neared, his lip curling with distaste as he made an attempt to pull the bottle away from him.

Draco pulled the bottle against him protectively. "It's her, isn't it?" He grumbled at the bartop.

"Pardon?" Blaise blinked and leaned closer. 

"I'm not bloody stupid. It may have taken me all night to realize it, but it's her. Astoria. The one you've met."

A heavy sigh exploded from Blaise before he could help it, and he sagged onto the barstool beside Draco. "Drake..." he said.

Draco swiveled to look at him. "Tell me you're not boffing my fiance." When he was met with a heavy silence, he swore then took a swig from the bottle.

"You're no blushing virgin either..." Blaise pointed out, the pit of his stomach was beginning to feel knotted anyway.

"It's not about that, you fucking tosser." 

"You certainly didn't want to fuck her," Blaise argued weakly. 

"You fucking arrogant twat." Draco swigged again and planted the bottle on the countertop, then pulled himself off of the stool, where he wavered so much, he had to grip the countertop to steady himself. "You have the nerve to lecture me about bringing shame on my family, and you go and do this behind my back? Fuck you, Zabini." He stabbed the air near Blaise's chest with his index finger You've made a fool out of me!"

"Both of you would have arranged affairs eventually anyway. What does it matter that she's done it now rather than later? Anyway, you've got Harry..." When Blaise articulated some of the entirely valid sounding reasons Astoria had provided him with, they sounded weak to his own ears. He glanced askance and swallowed back his guilt.

There was a deathly silence, followed by an icy look that would have made the God of Winter, Boreas, shiver.

"Draco, I'm sorry." Blaise raised his eyes after a moment. 

"I want to go home." 

"Ok." Blaise rubbed his hand over the top of his head. "I'll take you back to the hotel."

"I don't want to go to the hotel," Draco argued lowly. He swayed, and clutched Blaise's shoulder for support a moment. Then he stared at his hand for a few seconds before tearing it away. He drew up his shoulders and took a breath. "I bloody want to go home. My house. I don't want to be here anymore. None of you are my friends. Not a one."

"Draco," Blaise appealed to him. "It's Twenty-five hundred kilometers away from here. The portkey isn't set to work again until tomorrow afternoon."

"You find a way to make it happen, " Draco growled, snatching up the bottle again.

"Draco," Blaise said, trying to catch his attention. When that didn't work, he tried to at least pull the bottle from him again.

"Find a way, you bloody owe me that!" he screeched, backing away a few paces and glaring angrilly. "It's the least you can do!" he hollered before turning on his heel and storming away.


	46. Chapter 46

Harry was surprised to see Blaise at their door so unexpectedly, but even more so when he found himself being dropped off on the Weasley's doorstep. On one hand, he was elated to see them, and even grateful that Draco had considered him enough to not want to leave him home alone in any vicinity of The Manor for two days. Though there was a small part of him that resented feeling like he needed baby-sitting, he pushed it aside.

 

It was Saturday morning, and Molly was bustling busily around The Burrow. Ron was at work (oh, the woes and perils of being one of the newest Aurors on the force), and Arthur had accompanied Ginny to Slug and Jigger's Apothecary. When Harry offered to help her, Molly looked at him as though he were daft, and brushed his comment aside. She stopped to pile scones on a plate, and pushed a jar of jam and another of clotted cream at him.

 

"You're too thin," Molly frowned at Harry. "Doesn't Draco feed you, dear?"

 

Harry had to laugh at her, although he did flush. "Of course he does," Molly didn't need to know that Draco often literally fed Harry from the very palm of his hand. "I do the cooking," He offered, and received another grimace.

 

"Like Bachelors, the two of you." She shook her head and nudged the plate of scones nearer to him. "Eat up, Harry-Dear."

 

Later that night over supper, Molly clucked her tongue at the portion Harry served himself, and then waved her wand, adding another heaping mound of mashed potatoes to his plate. "You're too thin," She asserted again.

 

Harry tried to share a sideways, knowing glance with Ron, only to find him nodding in agreement. 

 

"Malfoy's turned him into quite the pretty boy," Ron grumbled as he chewed.

 

Harry looked affronted. 'Just call me a flaming ponce, why don't you?"

 

Ron swallowed thickly, clearing his mouth. He had the decency to flush a bit. "I was just taking the piss..."

 

"Ronald Weasly!" Molly admonished his language with a single look that seemed as though it would burn into his very soul.

 

"Sorry, Mum."

 

Harry was not the sort to hold a grudge, and he quickly forgot Ron's traitorous assessment. The two of them were thick as thieves again in no time, and it was almost as though no time has lapsed between them at all. Later that evening, they exhausted themselves playing Muggle card games. Much to Ron's disappointment, the board-pieces in Wizard's chess refused to move to the corresponding squares for Harry, and when Harry attempted to move them manually, they either rooted themselves to the spot or swung their weapons at him. After that, they didn't dare chance the repercussions of attempting a round of exploding snap.

 

"Oy, mate..." Ron yawned and stretched. "I don't know what sort of hours you're used to keeping, but I'm knackered."

 

Harry smiled. "Me too."

 

"Let's take the twins' room. It'll be like old times, yeah?"

 

"Sure," Harry agreed readily enough, but as they neared the second landing, Harry began to drag his feet. "Hey, Ron?" He ruffled the hair at the back of his head. "You got a pair of Pyjama bottoms I could borrow?"

 

Ron waved carelessly without looking back at Harry. "Just sleep in your pants."

 

Harry flushed as he opened and then closed his mouth. He would just have to sleep in the trousers he as wearing.

 

But his lack of response had Ron turning back to look at him. "Er...Tell me you're wearing pants, Harry." Harry's pink skin tone was enough of an answer for him. He waved his hand again and continued trudging up the stairs to his bedroom, grumbling as he went. "You'd think Malfoy could afford pants, of all things." Ron stooped to drag a pair out of the bottom of his dresser, and then pulled the top drawer open too. "You'll want pants, I expect."

 

"Ron..."Harry was beginning to feel patronized. "I don't want to wear your pants."

 

"Rubbish," Ron said, digging through. "I'm certain I've a pair of hideous ones George gave me for Christmas last year that I never wore...if I could just..." He waved his wand at the drawer, and sent underpants flying out all over as a result.

 

Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, I haven't worn pants since that summer in Romania."

 

"You...Oh. Oh." Ron smiled strangely and scratched his head, clearly biting his tongue. "Alright then Harry. Here's your pyjamas. Sans pants. Right. I suppose I'll throw on a pair for good measure myself..." He gestured with his wand, sending the undergarments back into the drawer, all jumbled, and retrieved another set of threadbare looking pyjama bottoms, and grinned lopsidedly as he stripped his shirt off over his head. "Might as well make one less trip," He said.

 

"Right," Harry agreed, averting his eyes and turning his back. He tossed his pyjamas over the desk and worked on his own shirt. When he was bare from the waist up, he lowered his hands to his trousers and opened the button, then lowered the zip. His hands hesitated to push the waistband down. It wasn't that he was self-conscious: He and Ron had seen each other naked hundreds of times, and it meant nothing, but things had changed with Harry, and getting naked was generally a signal that other activities were on the horizon. His conditioned prick was starting to show interest in being exposed. Things had not changed between Harry and Ron- Harry had changed. And it was making things awkward. With a sigh, he shoved his pants down and reached for the borrowed pyjamas, fumbling them of course. He heard a low curse.

 

"Shit, Harry. Where'd you get that scar?"

 

Harry jumped and clapped a hand over his arse, then hastilly pulled on the bottoms. "Salazar, Ron! Do you make a habit of ogling other gents arses in the changing room?" He turned and folded his arms over his chest.

 

Ron stared him down. " 'Course not, Mate. Just yours." Harry scowled at him. "Did Malfoy do that to you?" Ron's lips were tightening into a grimace at the very thought.

 

"No." Harry dropped his eyes and looked away. 

 

"Harry," Ron pressed. "If he did-"

 

"That's a Lucius Special." Harry snapped, looking back up at him. "Draco never hurt me like that."

 

"But he did hurt you?"

 

Harry went to the door, pausing with his hands on the frame a moment. "Leave it, you wouldn't understand."

 

"Mate..." Ron followed him out into the short hallway and then down the stairs.

 

"Sweet Salazar, Ron! I said leave it." His footsteps quickened and soon they were on the second landing.

 

Ron's brows creased. "That's the second time you said that." He said as he caught up to Harry.

 

"Said what?" Harry sighed, swinging into the twins' room.

 

"Salazar. That's a Slytherin saying, Harry. Slytherin."

 

"It's just a saying," Harry grumbled. "What does it matter?"

 

"You've been spending too much time with Malfoy, that's all." Ron shook his head.

 

"Don't have much choice in the matter..." Harry let his arms drop as he flopped down onto Fred's bed. When Ron gaped at him, he lifted his head and shot him a dirty look. "For fuck's sake, what is it now?"

 

"Nipple rings?" Ron's eyebrows were lost in his fringe.

 

Harry's hands found their way up his torso and he fingered the ourboros, giving them an absent tug. "There were my Christmas present," he murmured.

 

"Some present," Ron rolled his eyes.

 

"I like them, thank you very much." Harry was defensive.

 

"You like them." Ron echoed.

 

"Yeah, I like them, Ron. They turn me on. I like it rough. I get off on pain. What part of that is so hard to understand? I'm not the only one, you know."

 

Ron backed away from him, and sat heavily on George's mattress. "Merlin, Harry."

 

"Well, you wanna keep pressing me for details? You want to know how much Draco turns me on?" He gripped the edges of the mattress and pulled himself to a sitting position.

 

Ron held up his hands in defeat. "No. Please, no. I'm sorry. Everyone is still concerned about you, is all."

 

"Well, I'm fine. You can tell 'everyone' I said so. There's a lot worse people I could have ended up with than Draco."

 

"You didn't have to end up with anyone at all," Ron mumbled under his breath.

 

"I know." Harry glared. "But I did what I did and I can't take that back. Now leave it, once and for all. I don't expect you to understand me. I may be Draco's slave, but I still expect respect from you."

 

Ron blinked at him, looking miserable. "Fine. I'm sorry. I said I was already, dinnit I?"

 

"We're both tired..." Harry said, suddenly feeling poorly for biting Ron's head off, but needing to stand his ground. "We should go to sleep."

 

"Yeah. Sleep." Ron agreed gruffly, turning on the bed and kicking the covers down with his feet. He waited until Harry had covered himself before whispering, "Nox." 

 

An hour later, both men were still awake. Ron was laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Harry shuffle between the covers every couple of minutes. Harry had rolled from side to side and laid on his back, then his front, then gone back to his side again. He had kicked the blankets off, pulled them up to his chin, and moulded the pillows a hundred times it seemed. Harry's restlessness was keeping Ron awake. "Alright there, Mate?" he asked softly.

 

Harry sighed heavily, his movements stilling. "I can't sleep. Obviously. I'm keeping you up. M'sorry."

 

"It's ok." Ron answered. "What's the matter?"

 

There was a long silence before Harry admitted what was bothering him. "I haven't slept alone in months. I...I miss Draco."

 

Ron tried very hard not to snort, but his sound of exasperation escaped him anyway in the form of a long nasal exhalation. He bit the inside of his cheek and tasted blood.

 

Harry sighed in the dark again. "Don't expect you to understand. I'll try to keep still."

 

"You're right." Ron said after a minute. "I don't understand. Hermione is always trying to snuggle up to me when I stay at her place, and frankly, I can never wait to get back home to my own bed, where she isn't half up my arse all night long."

 

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Ron."

 

"For what?"

 

"Being a good friend."

 

Ron did snort this time. And he had just opened his mouth to say something else, when he was interrupted by the sound of the Weasley family wards, in attempted breech. "What the bloody hell is that?" He was on his feet, wand in hand in a moment. But despite his Auror reflexes, Harry was at the window first, pushing aside the tattered curtains. 

 

"Draco!?" Harry was alarmed and excited at once.

 

Ron growled. "That fucking imbecile..." He was halfway out the door, and Harry was close behind him. "Stay here." He ordered, pushing Harry back. "It's safer.

 

"It's just Draco," Harry argued. "He must need me, he wouldn't be here if he didn't."

 

"He doesn't 'need' anyone. He just needs to make a pest of himself." Ron countered with a roll of his eyes. "I said 'stay here'. Don't make me jinx you."

 

“Don’t be such a big-headed prat, Ron. Just because you’re an Auror now doesn’t mean I’m any less capable of holding my own.”

 

“I’d be more likely to believe you if you had a wand, Mate.”

 

“Keep throwing it my face, why don’t you!?”

 

While the two young men quibbled, Arthur Weasley hauled himself out of bed, and was halfway down the stairs, tying the sash of his bathrobe before anyone noticed. 

 

"Dad! Wait!" Ron took after his father, pausing only to call into Molly: "Mum, it's dangerous, don't let Harry come down!"

 

 

Draco wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but he found himself tumbling out of his parents' floo. He landed quite ungracefully on his hands and knees, covered in soot. When he tried to stand, the room spun, and he knew it was not so much his rough trip, but rather the amount of alcohol he'd consumed, finally catching up with him. No matter, he was home, almost. And he could relax with Harry and deal with everything else in the morning. Before his parents came to see what the noise was about, Draco wavered to his feet and made his way out of The Manor. He stumbled across the lawn, nearly getting lost in the garden. He managed to let himself into The Carriage House without killing himself, but was confused to find it dark.

 

"Pet?" He called out. Harry always left a light on for him. He must have forgotten. "C'mere, Pet." He slurred again, holding onto the doorjamb for purchase as he kicked his shoes off. "Harry!" Draco snapped irritably. This wasn't the time for playing games. "God damn it, Harry!" He swore, fumbling with his wand. It took him two tries, but he lit his wand and held it high. As he navigated the tight quarters, he smashed his leg into a decorative marble pedastal adjacent to the changing screen. "Fuck!" He swore. "Harry! Don't play games with me..." as the words escaped him, he realized, finally, that he had sent Harry away for the evening, and his precious pet was having a sleep-over at the Weasley's. Draco sneered to himself. That would never do. Why had he let himself be talked into attending this sham of a party with his poor excuse for friends? No matter. He was going to fetch Harry home, where he belonged. The room was tilting dangerously...oh, it was because he'd leaned his elbow on the bed frame and was sliding downward. He righted himself and his field of vision was better. What was he doing? Right. Going to fetch Harry. Draco gripped his wand, and closed his eyes. He only had a moment to wonder if the spinning sensation he was feeling meant he'd apparated, or was about to fall over.

 

He arrived in a heap on the dewy grass in a field. He would see a precariously pitched building with a number of chimneys, and so he knew he'd made it to the right place. Too, he was aware of a throbbing pain down the left side of his torso. Must have landed badly. Draco dragged himself to his feet, and in minutes, found himself thumping on The Weasley's front door with his left fist. His right hand was clutched around himself, every knock sending another ragged pain shooting through him. When Arthur Weasley finally opened the door, Draco fell inside. He must have passed out momentarily, because when he opened his eyes again, he was propped up on a chair, against the wall, and Arthur had pulled his shirt from his trousers and had the whole bloody mess dragged up for everyone to see. Draco tried to protest and right his clothing, only minorly concerned that his hand came away, covered in a thin film of sticky red. He found himself suddenly at the business end of a wand. With effort, he focused his eyes. "Wheeze-ley." His grin was lopsided.

 

"You stupid fuck." Ron said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

 

"Language, Ron." Arthur said tiredly.

 

"Har-" Draco started to yell, reaching for the wand pointed at him. A searing pain ripped through his side again and he grunted, redirecting his attention to slap Arthur's hand away from him. "That bloody hurts, man!"

 

"Imagine it does." Arthur agreed. "You've splinched half the skin from your rib cage."

 

"Rat-arsed fool." Ron leveled a dirty look at him.

 

"Not helpful, Ronald." Arthur said. He flapped his hand at his son. "Put that thing away. Go tell your mother you need the dittany."

 

"Don't want it." Draco grumbled stubbornly. "Want Harry. Harry!" He leaned forward and shouted into the next room.

 

"Send Harry down, too." Arthur sighed. "Maybe it'll keep him quiet." 

 

Draco scowled at Arthur Weasley when the man redirected him back down into the chair for a third time. "Stoppit." He slurred. "I want Harry. He's mine, you know. And I want him."

 

"So you've said." Arthur frowned down at him. "Keep still, or you're going to make it worse. I oughtn't say it, but you're lucky you're so drunk. You'd be in agony, if you weren't….” He placed both hands on Draco’s shoulders, applying a downward pressure to keep him seated. “Which brings me to my next question. What are you doing here at this hour? Yes, Harry. I know." Arthur interrupted Draco. "You sent us to ‘keep him’ for you for the evening, if you recall. We were planning on sending him home with you tomorrow morning. Now what's got you in such a state?"

 

"Zabini is a ssshhit." He slurred. "But Harry...Harry is a good boy, and he wouldn't be-betray me. Oh, yes." Draco heard himself ramble. “Besssst ssssslave I ever had. I love’em.”

 

"Dittany, Dad." Ron reappeared so suddenly that it made Draco's eyes cross. The next thing he knew, Ronald Weasley was attempting to pin him down, and Arthur Weasley was coming at him with a dropper and a potion bottle. There was only one thing to do in this circumstance: Fight them. Merlin only knew what thw two of them would do. A lot of yelling ensued, mostly from Draco. But they were hurting him. And keeping him from seeing Harry. There was a loud smack as the chair he was in topped over backward, the only thing preventing his head from bouncing off the floor was the fact that he’d been straining forward, trying to escape. But there was no time to think about that, because one of the Weasley's knees were on his shoulders.

 

"Careful, Ron. Don't hurt the bugger."

 

"You've got to be kidding me," came the response.

 

And then, "Get off him!" Ah, the voice of an angel. The Savior of the World, coming to Draco's rescue.

 

"Harryyyyyyy....." Draco somehow managed to work his hand out from under the crushing weight of the Weasley ontop of him, and made grabby-fingers. But then, Harry was kneeling at his side, shoving the weight off of him, taking his hand. As soon as Harry was there, Draco settled, and was cooperative even, with the ministrations of the elder Weasley. He circled his right arm around Harry's throat, pulling him closer, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, and then pet his hair (the motion was awkward at this angle, but Harry endured it dutifully), and grimacing at the strange sensation of flesh knitting back together.

 

Time elapsed, it was hard to say how much. Draco was finally allowed to sit up, and then Arthur Weasley was pressing a glass of water into his hands. He made him drink the whole glass, and then another. It made for an uncomfortably full and sloshy sensation in his stomach, combined with the need to relieve himself. He had himself half out of his trousers and aimed into the nearest corner, which looked like a good make-shift loo, when Harry turned him abruptly and pushed him to the front door, redirecting his aim outside in the nick of time. When he was finished, they returned to the kitchen. Or maybe they’d never left. The Weasel hole was rather disorienting. He slumped down in the chair again, and started to nod off.

 

It was difficult to follow the conversation going on between the three sober members in the room; it seemed to be going on in hushed tones, with plenty of accusatory glances in his direction. Finally, he pulled himself up, using Harry as a balance, but almost toppling him over. "I'm taking Harry home," he asserted.

 

Arthur smiled sadly and held up a slim wand that looked quite familiar to Draco. "I think not, my boy. You're staying the night, you're in no condition to go anywhere. How you made it here in the reasonably large piece you did is rather baffling. Harry-" His glance shifted slightly and he put the wand in his pocket, presumably for safe keeping. "Will you take Draco upstairs?"

 

"Harry," Draco commented rather loudly, as it seemed there was cotton stuffed in his ears. He had promptly forgotten about his wand. "We're staying the night at the Weasel's." His voice was full of wonder, as though he'd never considered it.

 

"Yes Sir, we are." Harry shifted his weight and Draco felt his body slid more fully against Harry's. What a good boy, Harry was. Draco thought to himself, and reached out to fondly caress his face. His fingers were uncooperative, however, and he poked Harry in the eye. "Ouch!" and then, "It's fine, Ron. I'm fine... No, I've never seen him this drunk before...It must be bad. Something's happened... No, I don't know... Shut up... I told you, he needs me." Draco could only follow Harry's voice.

 

"Yes, need you." Draco slurred, gripping more tightly to Harry.

 

 

 

Ron insisted on the three of them sharing the twin's room, and with only mild distaste, helped Harry ready a clumsy Draco for bed. At one point, Harry even thought he'd heard Ron mutter something to the effect of "And just when I was beginning to think maybe he wasn't such a git after all..." and then he shook his head and scowled.

 

"I'll bunk on the floor," Ron offered.

 

Harry shrugged, still irritated by Ron's big headed show. "Please yourself. That'll leave one bed empty either way." He climbed into twin bed with Draco, settling down rather quickly, as Draco's arm flopped over his torso and tugged. As soon as Harry was snuggled up against him, Draco promptly fell asleep. Harry sighed and glanced in Ron's direction. "There. He shouldn't be any more of a bother now, he'll sleep dead through till morning.

 

"Drink often, does he?" Ron questioned with a brow.

 

"Enough with the inquisition..." Harry said lowly. 

 

Ron's lips pressed into a thin line. "Just looking out for you, is all."

 

"Yeah, he drinks. He doesn't really have any other coping mechanisms. It hasn't always been so bad...just the closer it gets to the wedding..."

 

Ron snorted. "Sad, really."

 

"He's falling apart." came Harry's soft resopnse. Then, he interlaced his fingers with Dracos and tugged his arm into a more comfortable position. Draco barely stirred, and Harry shut his eyes. When it became clear to Ron that Harry was not going to offer up any more information, he turned the lights off for the second time that night, and soon, the three of them were asleep.


	47. Chapter 47

In the wee hours of the morning, Harry was awoken by an urgent tapping/shoving at his back. It took him a moment to orient himself, but suddenly he realized what was happening. He rolled out of the bed and onto the floor, scrambling for the waste bin. He barely got it in front of Draco in time. Draco grabbed the sides of the bin and held tightly as he began to wretch. Harry had never been privy to such a violent bout of sicking up in his life. After a few minutes, he lowered the bin to the floor and shifted onto the bed so that he could support Draco instead. After several minutes had passed, Draco dry heaved a few times, then spat, repeatedly. He laid limply in Harry's arms, catching his breath, and scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 

"Water..." Draco requested weakly.

 

Harry gently lowered him onto the mattress, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. He made to get up and realized that Ron was standing in front of him, holding out a tall glass of cool water. "I..." Harry was surprised. "Thank you." He took the water and turned his attention back to Draco. It took another half an hour to get him settled. Ron had vacated George's bed after banishing the contents of the waste bin, and Harry thought he might settle over there where he would be able to keep an eye on Draco better than if they were sandwiched together.

 

"Come back to bed?" Draco pleaded. "I promise I...I won't sick up on you. I don't think there's anything left, anyway."

 

Harry nodded and slid between the sheets, back into Draco's arms.

 

 

When Harry woke for the second time, he was hot and sweaty, and completely enveloped by Draco's body. His left arm was drawn around Harry's shoulder and angled down his torso. His right arm was aligned with Harry's, their fingers loosely clutched together. Draco's front was pressed to Harry's back, his forehead leaning on Harry's right shoulder blade, and his right knee was wedged between Harry's thighs. Despite the uncomfortable mugginess that veritably attached them, Harry took a moment to savor the position. It wasn't every morning that they woke up so entangled in one another, and it made him feel wanted. Needed. Hell, Draco had even admitted it, albiet under the confines of extreme enebriation, that he needed Harry. And that was a good feeling. He'd forgotten how nice it was to feel needed, even if there was a bunch of shitty responsibilities to go along with it. And the responsibility of taking care of Draco in one of his less than finer moments was nowhere near as taxing as the expectation of defeating The Dark Lord.

 

Harry's moment was nearly ruined when he opened his eyes to find Ron staring at them as he leaned against the doorjamb, a dodgy look on his face. He slowly and painstakingly freed himself so as not to disturb Draco, and tucked his pillow into the space left bare by his body. Draco clutched it and rolled over on top of it with an unintelligible grumble. Harry shook out his arms, stretched his neck, and adjusted his pyjama bottoms as he crossed the short distance to Ron. "What is it?" He whispered, pushing them into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind them.

 

Ron only shook his head. "The two of you. I...just...he...you..." He gave up trying to qualify what was bothering him and just shook his head again. "If you had told me at Hogwarts...I never would have believed it."

 

Harry ran his hand along the hair on the back of his head, smiled apologetically, and shrugged. "You know, I wouldn't have either. Things are funny like that, though. Say," Harry folded his arms over his chest, hiding the orbouros rings that seemed so intruiging to Ron. "You wouldn't happen to have any spare hangover potion laying about?"

 

Ron snorted. "Spare? We haven't any. Never did. Too expensive to buy, too difficult to make, and besides, Mum thinks you're meant to suffer the consequences of poor judgement. In his case, it's not a bad idea."

 

"He's going to be a right beast..." Harry looked worried. "Headache potions? Stomach-settlers? Calming draught?"

 

"You'll have to ask Mum..."

 

Harry sighed and nodded, heading for the stairs. He could smell the yeasty scent of baking bread, which meant that Molly was just beginning to get breakfast on.

 

"Harry," Ron tipped his head when he'd caught his friend's attention. "Might want a shirt before you go down there, don't want Mum falling down dead from shock before she finishes cooking."

 

"But Charlie's got tattoos, mate. You really think she'd go faint because of these?" He lifted one and let it drop.

 

Ron shrugged. "You want to risk it?"

 

Harry sighed and turned, heading back up to Ron's room to dress himself before padding on down to the kitchen. When he returned to the Twin's room, Draco was curled in a ball with the pillow over his head. Harry perched uneasily on the side of the bed.

 

"You'd better have enough tranquilizers to kill a hippogriff..." came Draco's muffled growl.

 

Harry swallowed. "I've got a headache potion and a glass of water."

 

"How many potions?" Draco questioned.

 

"Just the one..." Harry confirmed sadly.

 

"Tea?"

 

"Water. Molly says you're to come downstairs if you want anything else."

 

A small groan escaped Draco, and at first Harry wasn't sure whether it was because he was in physical pain, or because the thought of having breakfast with the Weasley's was causing him emotional distress. One hand snaked out from under the pillow, and fuimbled around Harry's leg as though he were searching for something. Harry put the capped phial in his hand, and Draco clutched it like a lifeline. After a moment, he threw the pillow off and rolled onto his back. Harry helped to prop him up while Draco uncorked the phial with his teeth and sucked down the fluid within. His eyes were still squeezed shut tightly, and he moaned again, grabbing his head. "Who is this Molly-bint, where are we, and why is she denying a dying man a cup of tea?"

 

Under different circumstances, Harry might have laughed. Instead, he sighed. "Molly Weasley..." he let his answer trail and hope that Draco could put the pieces together for himself.

 

Draco moaned louder and pulled the pillow back over his face."Sweet Salazar Slytherin...I've died and gone to hell, and it's the Weasley's house." He fell quiet for several minutes, presumably waiting for the potion to take effect. Finally, he pulled himself into a sitting position, grimacing and clutching his left side.

 

"Are you alright?" Harry asked with a vague gesture at the still pale and shiny patch of new skin partially covered by Draco's hand.

 

"Why shouldn't I be?" Draco growled defensively.

 

Harry lowered his head to Draco's thighs. "Splinched yourself on the way here last night," He mumbled into the wrinkled trousers covering him.

 

Draco grunted in acknowledgement and hunched to inspect himself. "Surprised they didn't let me bleed out on the lawn..."

 

"They're not like that..." Harry said, turning his left cheek against Draco's knee, and hugging his master's shins. 

 

"Hmph." 

 

Harry lifted his head then, craning his neck as he looked up at Draco, whose face was twisted in pain as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "What happened last night, Master?"

 

Draco scowled and tore at the sheets. "That fucking traitor, Zabini!" He hissed. "That bloody, backstabbing, good for nothing, underhanded-"

 

The door creaked open and Draco cut his tirade off short, his eyes flashing murderously. Ron poked his head in, and glanced between the two men occupying his brothers' room. "Everything alright?"

 

Draco lifted his chin defiantly. Harry nodded sheepishly. 

 

Ron held up Draco's shirt from the previous night. It was still faintly stained with blood, but freshly pressed. "Mum tried everything she had, she couldn't get all the blood out." 

 

Harry retrieved the shirt and held it in his lap when Draco made no move to take it. An awkward silence passed between them.

 

Ron finally cleared his throat. "Mum says to come down for breakfast at half ten. She's held it off a long while, and Ginny's been pissing and moaning all morning..."

 

Draco's eyes narrowed to slits, but Harry intervened on his behalf. "Right, thank's Ron. We'll be down in a bit. Tell her not to wait for us."

 

Ron heaved an exaggerated sigh and mumbled something unintelligble as he pulled the door shut behind him.

 

Harry was quick to offer use of the Weasley's shower, and was surprised when Draco did not decline. Harry waited on the otherside of the curtain and was ready with a towel. He dressed Draco wordlessly, and then stood, holding the door open for him. 

 

Where are my shoes?" Draco demanded.

 

Harry swallowed and looked away. "You didn't have any on when you got here. Do you...would you...like mine?"

 

Draco gave a cursory glance downward and then pursed his lips. "Where's my wand?"

 

"Arthur has it," Harry replied with a small voice. "You tried to leave-"

 

"Then you bloody well should have let me!" Draco half-shouted.

 

Harry winced. "You wanted to take me with you. You were still all juiced up..."

 

Draco scowled and turned to face the mirror again, styling his damp hair with his hands. He appeared to be deep in thought, and frowned several times. Finally, he turned again, and gave Harry another once-over. "Get your trousers off, now!"

 

The tone of Draco's voice was angry, hard, cold. He was not in a mood to be reckoned with. Harry didn't dare to appeal to him- the Weasley's would be in for a shock at breakfast, he thought as his hands flew to his belt buckle and deftly undid it.

 

Harry had the clothing half past his hips before Draco seemed to relax a bit, and put his hand out. "Stop." He sighed and gestured. "Put them back on."

 

"Master?" Harry whispered, frozen.

 

"I just...I just needed to see where your loyalties lay," Draco swallowed and glanced away as though he were embarassed with himself.

 

Harry tugged his clothes back into position, then lowered himself carefully to the floor, pressing his forehead against the tops of Draco's feet. "With you. They lie with you, Master."

 

Draco cast a heavy sigh, and crouched, tugging Harry up and kissing him gently. "I know. You're a good boy, Harry..." He smoothed his fringe back from his face and pressed their foreheads toether before whispering, "C'mon, let's go."

 

 

 

By the time Harry and Draco made their way downstairs, the Weasley family, plus Hermione, were all gathered around the table. Their conversation was low and tense, and Ron was grumbling about being made to wait for Malfoy. Harry shot him the dirty look that Draco was unwilling to make, given that he was deeply outnumbered. There were two open seats: the first was next to Ginny and directly across from Hermione, and the second at the end of the table, but directly opposite Ron. Draco dragged his feet on approaching the table, silently urging Harry to choose so that he didn't have to. Harry, however, hung back and waited obediently, two steps behind Draco. Finally, Draco chose the end seat. Harry moved behind Draco's chair, and Draco had to gesture to the seat beside him. "Take your seat," He practically whispered.

 

All eyes were on the two young men who were late to breakfast, and it was awkward for all. Finally, Ron broke the silence by heaping a mound of scrambled eggs onto his plate and passing the bowl to Hermione with a grunt. Molly flushed slightly and cleared her throat. "Draco, would you care for some tea?"

 

Draco squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. "Please, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you." His tone was rather subdued, and not snappish at all.

 

Ron and Ginny openly gaped. Hermione blinked several times, looking rather stunned as well. When Draco glanced at Harry askance, he got the barest, approving nod. It was an awful task, maintaining his posture with the potion-muted throbbing going on behind his eyes and rolling up to the crown of his head, so after Molly sent a brimming cup of tea his way, he slumped in the chair, miserably sipping the steaming beverage. Draco was so busy willing himself into spontaneous combustion that he failed to notice all the passed dishes were piling up, untouched between himself and Harry.

 

"Aren't you going to eat, Harry?" Hermoine asked, as the growing mound of dishes threatened to push her plate into her lap.

 

Draco looked up, bleary eyed, and found his beautiful, obediant and wonderful Harry surreptitiously glancing at him. Draco was impressed by Harry's new-found dedication to good behavior, although, his slave's eyes had something of a pleading quality behind them. Draco cupped his hands around the steaming cup and canted his head. "Something you wanted to say, Pet?" He asked in Romainian.

 

Harry's eyes widened, and then he smiled. His face exuded gratitude, and he dropped his gaze obediently once more, before responding in kind: "Shall I serve you, my master?"

 

 

 

 

Ever since she'd received Ron's owl in the afternoon the day before, Hermione had been looking forward to seeing Harry again. She hadn't known that Malfoy was going to be there too, else she mightn'nt have come. But Ron had filled her in on some of the drama that had unfolded in the middle of the night. It was hard to keep herself from glaring at Malfoy with utter contempt. Despite the fact that he looked like something the kneazle dragged in, she felt no pity for him. It was obvious Harry was being extra cautious with his behavior this morning, and she could only assume Malfoy's foul mood meant even more degrading punishments for Harry than usual. She only hoped that there would be no more demonstrations of Harry's obedience-she knew Molly wouldn't be able to take it. Hermoine couldn't help but watch as Harry received dish after dish of steaming food and set them closer to Malfoy, and without serving himself. Harry sent her an apologtic look as he set a plate of toast practically ontop of her own dining plate. Malfoy was oblivious, lost in his own sadistic thoughts, no doubt. Finally, she could bite her tongue no longer. "Aren't you going to eat, Harry?" Her pointed look was aimed crossways.

 

Hermione pursed her lips and watched as Malfoy frowned, then looked over at Harry. She was surprised when the look on his face softened, though he spoke in low, gutteral tones. Harry's response was a relieved smile, and then he spoke with more of the gutteral language that Hermione did not understand. A quick glance around the table showed that no one else did either. All eyes were on the exchange. After a minute, Harry reached for the scrambled eggs and dished some up for himself, and then for Malfoy, before reaching for another platter. They continued to talk softly- Hermione wasn't sure she would have understood them even if they WERE speaking English. But one thing she knew for certain was that the way Malfoy was looking at Harry was not at all malicious. 

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ron lift his wand. She could only assume he meant to perform a translation charm. Though she was curious too, she lifted her hand and gently pushed the tip of the wand down, giving a subtle shake of her head. She was aware that she was staring, but how could she not? The two men sitting across from her were not the Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter she thought she had known. Harry glanced out from under his dark lashes, almost flirtatiously as he served Malfoy. Malfoy smiled (not smirked), then reached his right hand out, fondly caressing Harry's face.

 

At nearly the same time, Ginny cleared her throat, and Ron dropped his fork with a clang. The intimate moment was shattered: Malfoy's hand snapped back into his lap and Harry stared down at his plate, his face instantly coloring. Hermione shot Ron a dirty look, but he was flushed as well. He lowered his gaze and began shovelling fried potatoes into his mouth hastilly.

 

"So..." Arthur interjected. "How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Malfoy?"

 

Malfoy's eyes flickered toward the head of the table and he pointedly dabbed his mouth with his serviette. He hadn't yet taken a bite, so Hermione wondered what the point was. Malfoy looked as though he wasn't sure how to respond. "As though I've been trampled by a hippogriff, Mr. Weasley." He eyed his teacup, and lifted it to his lips, adding in a strained voice, before he sipped, "But I do thank you for your hospitaltiy." He drank then, lifted his fork and began to push food around his plate. He glanced at Harry, and said something foreign again, after which Harry immediately picked up his silverware and began to eat.

 

Everyone's scrutiny was on the two young men who did not normally share their sunday breakfast. The silence was punctuated by brief and uncomfortable attempts to engage Malfoy in conversation. Hermione wasn't sure why they bothered. No one addressed Harry, as though they were afraid to. Finally, Hermione kicked Ginny under the table. "Ginny, " She said loudly. "How did your practice with the Harpies go yesterday? I noticed you were limping a bit this morning?"

 

 

 

Draco picked at his food. He knew what it looked like: that he was turning his nose up at a Weasley-prepared meal. But that wasn't what was happening. Normally, he was ravenous after a bender, but last night, he'd taken his drinking to a new level, even for him. He was still feeling a tad nauseous, and his stomach was rolling and churning acid in a manner that suggested a plateful of eggs would be rapidly rejected. To mollify the masses, he forced a few small bites on himself, and then sipped tea while the contents settled.

 

"Have you got enough to eat, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked with a too-wide smile.

 

"I am so full, "Harry said as he sliced another round off his sausage and put it in his mouth. He waited until he was done chewing to add, "It's so good though, I can't stop. Thank you, Molly."

 

Draco slipped his right hand over onto Harry's left thigh. Harry spread his legs allowing Draco easier access, and shot a brief smile in his direction. Draco slid his fingers high, then gently palmed Harry's organ, which was semi-erect and laying along his inner thigh. It was easy to let himself be distracted by their old games, though Draco had never endeavored to molest his slave at the Weasley's table, or any table for that matter. From the corner of his eye, his observed Harry's reaction- he settled his fork down, reached for his water, and took a gulp, eyes meeting briefly to Draco's. Then he tipped his hips, slightly slumping the chair and pressed his bulge against Draco's hand. Then, he licked his lips, and picked up his fork, spearing a whole sausage link in the middle.

 

" Don't you dare," Draco whispered in Romanian. The mischevious glint in Harry's eye was not lost to him. Draco did not know how he might react if Harry fellated a sausage in the middle of the Weasley's dining room, although it couldn't be said that Harry wouldn't go a long way to cheer him up.

 

 

 

"I am deeply sorry if my actions are not pleasing to you, Master," Harry responded in his poorly accented Romanian. He thought he saw a hint of a smile twitch in the corner of Draco's mouth as he gave another squeeze to Harry's thigh. Harry felt a flood of relief. He had known that Draco was sure to be in a foul mood today, simply because he would be feeling poorly. Harry had no idea what had gone on with Blaise, but if Draco was calling him a back-stabbing traitor, it must be serious. It was also going to require dilligence on his behalf to stay in Draco's good graces and prevent him from slumping into a funk of epic proportions. He'd already questioned Harry's loyalty, and proving it would require him to set aside his pride where the Weasley's were concerned, but at this point, what did it matter now? Although, Harry was eternally grateful that Draco had switched to Romanian for their conversations, sparing him from embarassment in front of his friends. He would be sure to show Draco how extensive his gratitude was, later on, when he was feeling better.

 

When everyone was done eating, Molly, who sternly told Harry to sit back down, began to clear the plates. Ginny and Hermione got up to help her clear the table. Peripherally, Harry could see Draco hedging, chewing the inside of his lip while deep in thought. His chin lifted, which meant that he had come to a decision in regards to whatever he was considering. He pushed himself to his feet and strode over to where Arthur was just standing.

 

Harry cocked his head, straining to hear Draco's quiet, humble tone. He noticed Ron doing the same, but afforded him only a simple smile before returning his attention to his Master. From what Harry could gather, Draco was apologizing for his behavior, thanking Arthur again for his hospitality, and then sheepishly requesting his wand back. Arthur believed Draco to be too ill to sucessfully apparate, his concern naturally centering on Harry. Draco's posture stiffened, and Harry held his breath. He saw Draco's fingers clench into a fist, which he forced back down to his side. Arthur gestured toward their floo, and Draco shook his head immediately, then half turned, catching Harry's eye. He had to remind Arthur that Harry was contractually incapable of flooing. Draco's final suggestion was that Arthur side-along Harry to the Malfoy property, and Draco would meet them there. Arthur had agreed, but said he didn't like to apparate too soon after eating.

 

After several minutes, Draco and Arthur were still actively gesturing, their movements emphasizing their hushed words. Draco's jaw tightened, and the tension became nearly palpable as the two men stared one another down. Finally, Draco threw up his hands in defeat and stormed out of the kitchen, snagging Harry by the bicep as he passed. "Ask Weasley--Ronald," Draco clarified, "to side-along you to The Manor. If he agrees, have him get my wand from his father. This is ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous." He was steaming as he shoved his fingers against his eyelids. "Merlin-damned, weak-ass potion is already wearing off...can't deal with this shit..."

 

"Have a seat, Malfoy," Ron said with false cheer as he passed through. "I'm sure you'll feel better in a little while, and whatever scheme you're cooking up with my father will go off without a hitch. You're more than welcome to borrow Pigwidgeon if you'd rather contact your father, looking for a favor..."

 

Draco scowled. "Weasley..."

 

"Ron!" Harry said in Draco's defense. Ron shrugged, and Harry took another look at Draco before stepping nearer to Ron. "Haven't you got anything else to speed this along?"

 

Ron sighed, then craned his neck, making sure his mother was still busy in the kitchen. He shot a glare at Draco. "The insufferable git is suffering, is he?" Then, he beckoned to Harry. "If you come quick, I'll see what I can loot from her cabinet."

 

Harry turned to ask permission, but Draco flapped his hand impatiently. "Just go."

 

 

 

Harry had no sooner left with Ron, and Draco threw himself down in a lumpy looking arm chair. He pushed his face against one of the wings and huffed. The whole Weasley family was infuriating. Draco had gone out of the way to be polite, and even asked for his wand rather than demand what was rightfully his, and still, they had to fuck around, play games, delay their departure, and for what?

 

"Malfoy?"

 

Draco slitted his eyes open, then rolled them. Just when he thought things wouldn't get any worse..."Granger." He said between clenched teeth. "I mean this in the nicest way possible...piss off, yeah?"

 

"I want to talk to you," Hermoine said.

 

"I'm not interested."

 

Hermoine stuck her arm elbow deep into her purse, and rooted around for a minute. She drew her fist out and glanced into it, looking triumphant. "I've got a tummy tonic, a headache potion, and a pepper-up potion that says otherwise." She held them up so that Draco could see she wasn't lying. 

 

Draco huffed, then held out his hand. "I want the headache potion before you start chewing my ear off..."

 

Hermione plunked it into his hand, then flounced over to the other easy chair, dragging it nearer with a scraping sound that made Draco wince. "Better?" 

 

Draco refused to give her the satisfaction of an affirmative answer. "What do you want?"

 

"If you care anything for Harry, and I know that you do-" Draco raised his eyebrow at her. "You can't deny it, " Hermione added. "I saw the way you looked at him..." she cleared her throat. "Incidentally, I also saw the way he looked at you...like you were the only one that mattered..."

 

"Get on with it, " Draco grumbled, trying not to appear pleased to hear that Harry only had eyes for him.

 

"You need to know something about Harry." She sighed. Draco began to drum his fingertips on the arm of the chair. "The Muggles that raised him? They were total shit."

 

"Of course they were, they're Muggles." Draco drawled.

 

"No, I mean it." Hermione said, ignoring his comment. "To say that they took advantage of Harry is an understatement. They abused him. They were cruel, made him do all the cooking and cleaning, never gave him anything, starved him..."

 

Draco wasn't quite sure where Hermione was going with this. "If you think that is abuse-" he began.

 

"They locked him in a cupboard most of the time! He was just a little boy! Don't you even tell me, Malfoy, you selfish shit, that you think that's ok. Whatever you're doing, it's a game to you, but for Harry...he thinks he deserves to be treated like that, because he always has been. But he doesn't!" She gulped in a great breath of air.

 

Draco held up his hand. "Listen here, Granger. I know you think you know everything there is to know about Harry, but you don't. I'm not saying I do either, but the way we know Harry is different. Who he is when he's with you is not who he is with me. I didn't do that to him. I didn't make him into the sex-pervert that you think he is...that we both are. He came to me like that. He's different than you, and you know what? He's a big boy, Granger. He made his choice. And when his contract is up, he'll go running right back for another, and you know why? Because he craves order in his life and he doesn't know how to manage it himself. Because he's never lived a minute without someone telling him what to do, whether it was those damn Muggles, or Dumbledore, or you and Weasley...yeah, that's right. You think I don't know how you've influenced his decisions? Think about it." Draco looked at her smugly, then held out his hand. "If you're done pestering me about Harry's sordid past, present, and future, I'll take those other potions now."

 

Hermione fumed. She slammed the phials into Draco's hand and started away from him, then turned at the last second. "It's called 'Stockholm Syndrome', and I suggest you look into it, if you have a commendable bone in your body. Do it, for Harry's sake, before you ruin him beyond repair!"

 

Draco stared after her incomprehensibly. After she was gone, he shook his head, uncapped the tummy tonic, and slugged it down like a shot. "Nutty bint," he muttered to himself, making a face at the sour aftertaste of the liquid. "Stockholm syndrome...must be some stupid Muggle disease." 

 

Draco clutched Harry and his wand with equal strength as they apparated back to The Carriage House. For a moment, he thought they'd gotten lost along the way, because he found himself standing in an empty room. A quick examination of their surroundings revealed that they were, in fact in the Carriage House, however, it was devoid of Draco's possessions.

 

"What the bloody fuck?" Draco barked, his voice echoing off the empty walls. He turned in confusion, jerking Harry along with him. He ran his hand through his hair, leaving it a tangled mess, and looked at Harry, eyes wide with angered confusion.

 

Shortly after their arrival, there was a loud crack, and Lucius suddenly stood before them. Harry sheid and cowed behind Draco.

 

"What the fuck is this?" Draco said, the pitch of his voice ratcheting up along with his stress level. He waved his hands around and glared at his father.

 

"I suggest you mind your tone," Lucius said coolly.

 

"I will not." Draco said impetuously. "What have you done with my things? And how... how did you get in here?" Draco was afraid he'd left the place unwarded after his drunken debacle.

 

Lucius snorted. "Did they teach you nothing in that inferior school that I sent you to?" He swept his hand. "This, and everything in it is on my property. Which means that the wards you have placed are generally obsequiois in my presence. I have... " he sniffed. "...perhaps humored is the proper adjective, yes...humored you in the past, but I have grown increasingly intolerant of your childish behavior."

 

Draco opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by Lucius' raised hand.

 

"You are getting married in two weeks. In anticipation of this most momentous occasion, I have taken the liberty of returning your things, as well as a number items which appear to have been misappropriated from The Manor, to their rightful places. You will return to The Manor and continue to make preparations to hospitably receive your wife. You will remain there where I can keep my eye on you, because it would appear that I have done you an enormous disservice by allowing you the freedom to do as you wished with yourself for the last two years. You will not embarass this family. You will take your rightful place as heir. You will act like an adult. I expect I have made myself reasonably clear."

 

Draco was uncharacteristically silent.

 

Lucius made one final assessment of his son: "You had better wipe that look off your face before you step foot inside The Manor. Resentment is very unbecoming of you, Draco."

 

"I'm not-" Draco started to protest.

 

"Do not make your mother wait any longer than she already has for you. You are expected for lunch." Lucius disapparated before there was an opportunity for Draco to argue further.

 

Draco's hand dropped behind him, and he grabbed hold of Harry before following after him. Harry had hardly any time to recover and orient himself to his surroundings before Draco was shouting. "I am not marrying that filthy bint!"

 

"Draco!" Narcissa stood up from the dining room table, her voice laced with anger, face a mask of shock.

 

"Don't you 'Draco!' me!" he argued, stalking around the table toward her and leaving Harry to cower on the floor. "That whore has been fucking Blaise Zabini the whole time! Merlin only knows what diseases she has, or if she's pregnant..."

 

Lucius, although he did not appear impressed, remained calm. "Worse things have happened, Draco. We can certainly require her to be tested by a medi-witch or wizard. Infact, I believe she would have been subjected to one contractually, anyway. I'll owl Amadeus." He snapped his fingers. "Mippy!" A house elf appeared and bowed low until Lucius gave his instructions, and then she was gone.

 

"Draco frowned deeply. "No! I will not be made a mockery of!" He slammed his fist down on the table for emphasis. "I will not marry her!"

 

"Don't be ridiculous," Lucius scoffed. "We simply cannot back out of this now; it's far too close. The arrangments have been made, the invitations have been sent. This family has made a commitment, Draco. You have made a commitment. Whether you do or do not wish to be married is not relevant. It is your obligation as a pureblooded citizen to maintain bloodlines. Now," he pressed his fingers together, and his nostrils flared. "I believe we were clear on my instructions that you were to act as an adult. You will compose yourself, or-"

 

Draco turned away from his father, pulling the one card in his sleeve that had worked for him in the past. "Mother," he appealed to her, taking her hand. "Mother, please."

 

Narcissa couldn't help but envelope her son's hand between her two. She canted her head toward him and put on a doting smile.

 

"Don't make me do this," Draco pleaded.

 

"Darling," she said with a sigh, and a glance to Lucius. "Your father is right, there's nothing I can do." She patted his hand, then caressed his face. "This is certainly not the most pleasant of news, and I wish there was a way that I could spare you the pain of it all, but really, dear one. You haven't always been very plesant or attentive to Astoria. It's no wonder she's strayed so early. Of course, you may well be able to win her affections back; Salazar knows the two of you are young enough. But I hope you're not holding on to the fairytale idea that the two of you will fall in love. You will come to love her, of that I am sure. Especially once she bears you a child, mind..."

 

Draco sunk to his knees, using an appellation for her that had fallen into disuse long before he'd become an adolescent. "Mum! There's something I have to tell you." He took her hand again. "Mummy, I-" he looked stricken, then swallowed and pressed on resolutely. "I'm gay."

 

Narcissa's laugh was like crystal goblets clinking against one another. She smoothed his hair and pulled his forehead near her so that she could kiss it. "Of course you are. Did you think I didn't know?"

 

Draco looked confused, and he pulled back from her. "But I-" he looked to his father who did not seem shocked by the news either.

 

"Do not think that your sexual preferences will garner you any sympathy from me." Lucius said, smugly leaning against the door frame.

 

"It is no wonder," Narcissa said. "For all the boys your father has brought home, there has never been a girl for you to lust after. Though there were plenty of girls for you to meet at school..." she tipped her head thoughtfully. "It doesn't matter. The apple may not fall far from the tree, as it were..." she glanced at Lucius and smiled. "You and Astoria will work things out between you. It is expected, these days, for there to be lovers."

 

Draco withdrew his hand from hers and stood.

 

"Oh, don't be angry with me, Draco," Narcissa said lightly.

 

Lucius waved his hand dismissively. "Let the boy go and sulk. It's the only talent he appears to have, these days."

 

"What about lunch?" Narcissa lamented.

 

Draco's glanced at her and fought back a scowl. He lifted his chin and fluttered his hand. "I've already eaten. With the Weasley's." Draco bit back a smile when his father stiffened and his mother crinkled her nose in disdain. "Harry, come!" Draco gestured to him, and then led the way out of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Draco was perched on the edge of the mattress in his childhood bedroom, with his head in his hands. The house elves had restored the suite to it's former, tidy, glory. It had been six hours, and already, he missed the organized chaos of the carriage house. He missed the illusion of isolation, self-sufficiency, and freedom it had given him. "Harry." he said in a strained voice. "Get me a drink."

 

Harry frowned but got up. He was gone longer than it should have taken him to pour his master two thumbs worth of whiskey, but maybe he was having trouble finding the liquor cabinet, now that everything had been relocated. He returned, slipping to his knees before Draco, who held out his hand to receive the drink. Harry hung Draco's black leather bag, the one with Harry's "toys", over his fingers instead.

 

Draco lifted his head abruptly, and stared at the bag. "What-" There was confusion, mixed with a tinge of anger.

 

"Please," Harry begged. "Please, Master. Losing yourself in the bottom of a bottle hasn't done you any good yet. Wouldn't you rather lose yourself with me, instead?"

 

Harry's master quickly masked his surprise. "You don't know what you're asking for."

 

To prove himself, Harry prostrated himself on the floor. "Yes, I do. I'd rather you took it out on me than yourself."

 

Draco snorted. "No, you don't."

 

Harry maintained his position and didn't say anything.

 

"Harry!" Draco said with exasperation and nudged him with his foot. "Get me a drink, now."

 

Defiantly, Harry lifted his head. He fixed Draco with a blatant stare and shook his head. "No."

 

Draco was on his feet in an instant. "Think you're going to goad me into punishing you, do you?" He grabbed Harry by the arm and wrenched him upward. They glared at eachother intently until Draco pushed Harry away from him with a scowl. "Have it your way then." Stooping, he pulled a collar and a buttplug from the bag, then flung them at Harry. "You have two minutes to prepare yourself, and then we're going."

 

"Going?" Harry paled, clutching the objects with one hand while the other was already fumbling with his belt buckle.

 

"Going." Draco affirmed with a grim nod. "To the dungeon. You've been there before, haven't you? With my father?" He wanted the satisfaction of seeing Harry's face change when he brought up the reference, but instead, it made him feel like an arse for frightening him. Nevertheless, he stood by and watched as Harry rapidly shed his clothes, using the little time he had left to stretch himself and insert the plug, arching his back as he reached behind himself and pushed. Then, Harry approached, dropping to his knees and offering up the collar. Harry kept his head lowered as it was fastened, but made a soft choking sound as Draco attached the leash and yanked it.

 

As they reached the stairs, Harry whimpered and looked up at Draco. Draco eyed the steps. Crawling down the strairwell hadn't worked well, even for the most graceful of his father's slaves. More often than not, his father had simply dragged them down, floundering and crying out the whole way. He couldn't bear the thought of doing that to Harry, even as angry and stressed as he was. He canted his head in allowance. "Sit up and scoot."

 

"Thank you, Master," Harry breathed. At the bottom of the stairs, Harry leaned forward onto his hands and knees without being told.

 

"Draco, Dear," Narcissa said, standing as they passed through the drawing room. "Where are you going, sweetheart?"

 

"Where do you think?" He snapped, lifting his bag, and not bothering to pause his purposeful stride.

 

When they reached the dungeon, Draco led Harry directly to a metal frame. "Stand up," He said as he dropped the leash. He continued to the medical-looking stainless steel rolling tray where he deposited his bag with a clang. Draco turned to find Harry staring at him. He folded his arms over his chest and waited. Slowly, Harry shifted his gaze away, lowering his head in submission. He approached his slave at an angle, slipping behind him, where he stood for sometime, letting the anticipation build. Before long, Harry began to squirm under his scrutiny. Draco smiled darkly and gently slid his hands along Harry's shoulders, then down his arms. He caught Harry's right wrist, raised it, and began fastening it to the cuff welded to the corner of the frame. He repeated the process with Harry's left wrist, and then cuffed his ankle on the same side. As he crouched to fasten the right ankle, Harry flexed, helplessly, and Draco felt exhilaration surge through him. He ran his hand up the inside of Harry's leg, drawing away without allowing his fingers to brush against any of his sensitive areas. Harry used the little give he had to sway toward the touch.

 

Control. Yes, with Harry bound and waiting for his attention, Draco was already feeling much more in control of the situation. Maybe Harry wasn't such a fool after all, Draco mused as he took his time unpacking his bag and laying out all of his instruments and toys neatly. He returned to stand behind Harry, letting his body hover centimeters behind him, feeling heat radiating between them. After a minute, he draped his arms around Harry's neck, nuzzled him, then took his chin between his finger and thumb and lifted Harry's head into a more pleasing position. Harry shivered against him. 

 

"You're not scared, are you?" Draco purred in his ear, and fitted himself against the swell of Harry's arse.

 

"No, Master..." Harry replied, flexing his body again, seeking more touch. "I trust you." He had said as much before, but it gave Draco that much more confidence in his actions.

 

"Do you now?" Draco murmured as he ran his fingertips down Harry's rib cage, over the curve of his hip, to curl around the base of his erect cock. He squeezed but did not stroke, and drew a loud breath from his slave. Returning to the tray, he selected a leather flogger, and without further ado, swung it across Harry's chest. The strands splayed, and Harry jerked. Draco swung it three more times, until a suitable flush was spreading between his slave's nipples. Then he set it aside so that he could plump and pull those pink nubs until they were tender, erect. He gave a vicious twist to one of the ourboros before hooking a small marble disc to it. Harry groaned, and Draco's cock twitched in his pants. The other nipple, he pulled taut, then placed a tight clip behind the ring. He flicked the marble disc, making it swing pendulously, then abruptly yanked on the metal frame, turning it so that Harry-who gave a cry of surprise- was suspended, face down.

 

Draco returned the flogger to his hand, and trailed the strands over Harry's calves, up his thighs, over the swell of his buttocks. With his free hand, Draco teased his own prick through his trousers. Without warning, he began to swat Harry's back, shoulders, and upper arms. His swing was erratic, sometimes several in succession, sometimes just one or two, and then he would pause, and wait for the color to rise to Harry's skin. When it was sufficiently patterned with red criss-cross marks, he dropped the flogger on the ground, and swung Harry back upright in the frame. He circled around in front of Harry, assessing him, watching the rise and fall of his chest. This time, Harry kept his eyes submissively averted. Draco plucked Harry's clipped, left nipple like a harp string, then removed the clip, trading it for the marble weight that had been on the right side. Before afixing the clip again, he ducked his head, took Harry's right nipple in his mouth, and worried it with his teeth. Harry's hips bucked toward him, and Draco gave a patronizing pat to his cock, which was surprisingly as hard as his own. "Plenty of time for that later," He said dismissively. 

 

The red paddle caught Draco's attention next, and he let Harry kiss it and rub his face against it before resuming his work. He paddled Harry's arse and thighs, pausing to pinch the scarce patches of pale skin. Draco was overwhelmed by the desire to drop to his knees and press his face into the cleft of his slave's arse, and let the angry skin warm his face. But Draco was afraid if he did that, he'd be unable to control himself, that he'd be too distracted by Harry's scent and the feel of him, and they'd fuck, and the game he was playing, pretending he was in control, would be over too soon. His fingers found the base of the plug, and he worked it, letting the object fuck Harry the way he wanted to: maddeningly slow at first, and then rough, hard, digging it into him. Harry's hips bucked shamelessly, and he made a sound in his throat.

 

Draco stopped, slid the plug firmly into him, and stepped away. He swallowed thickly, pressed the heel of his palm against his erection, begging it to be patient. "Something you wanted to say, Slave?"

 

"More," Harry groaned, pulling his body taut against his bonds. "Please, Master, don't stop."

 

"I'm hardly finished with you, Pet." Draco assured him as he took off his shirt and threw it away from himself. He crossed to one of the cabinets, where he withdrew a bottle of water. He slugged down the first half, watching Harry's body flex and twist, seeking something to touch, but finding only air. He approached Harry, and offered him the rest of the water. He poured it slowly so that Harry wouldn't choke, but soon there was a wet mess on the floor at their feet where Harry's mouth hadn't been able to keep up with the rhythm of the sloshing water. "More?" he questioned, when there was a quarter of the bottle left. Harry shook his head. Draco took his cheeks in hand, pursing Harry's wet lips with his grasp, and then he kissed him, roughly. There was no tongue, only the flattening of their mouths, and a nip of teeth before he pulled away.

 

He latched his fingers in Harry's hair and tugged, pulling Harry in the frame so that he was facing the ceiling. He removed the nipple clip and the weight, feeling the ouroboros thrum under his fingers. They did so when Draco was pleased with Harry, and he briefly hoped that it gave his slave some reassurance, before he continued. Draco summoned a wooden switch from the tray, and flexed it, before whipping it down, catching Harry's stomach. It left a thin, red line, and made Harry jerk and cry out again. Draco used this toy sparingly, delivering a total of only ten strokes, and he layered them down Harry's abdomen and upper thighs. "Alright, Pet?" He asked lowly, letting his hand caress Harry's face. 

 

Harry's eyes were closed, but he nodded, then unclenched his jaw. "Yes, Master. Thank you."

 

"Can you take more?"

 

"Yes, Master." Harry said immediately.

 

"Harry, look at me." When he did, Draco said, "I mean it."

 

Harry's weak smile was brief. "I know. I do too. I'll take it, if you need me to."

 

Nevertheless, Draco returned the switch to the tray, and took up the flogger again. He let the fringe dance over Harry's body, tickling him until Harry begged for more. "Please, Master," he groaned, arching his back. "Please use it on me."

 

Draco righted the frame before resuming. He let the leather strands make lovely pink marks on Harry's skin, front and back, wrists to ankles, and everything in between. The only parts spared were Harry's gentials, and only because he had other plans for those. When he was finished flogging, he sent the leather toy chasing after his shirt. Draco was sweating profusely and Harry was starting to sag against his restraints. Draco knew he wasn't going to push him much more. He stroked Harry's shaft affectionately, ignoring the head which was an angry red-purple and wet with precome. He fondled Harry's balls roughly and pinched the skin of his sac, drawing it tight. "We shouldn't forget this, should we?" He asked softly.

 

Harry moaned and thrust against his hand.

 

Draco took up the light-weight, whippy paddle he kept for such a purpose, and struck it against his palm. It was more sound than sting. Rapidly, he swatted it along the length of Harry's shaft, and bounced it a few times for good measure under his balls. Harry drew in a ragged breath, and Draco knew he was done. They both were. He dropped the paddle, pulled his wand out the back of his pants, and released Harry from his bonds. He caught him in his arms, and lowered him to the floor. He cradled him for a minute, petting his hair, kissing his face. "Oh, Pet..." he sighed, lifting Harry's hand as it clung to his own, and pressed his lips to the palm. After sometime, he drew away to pack his things away, and Harry knelt, pressing his face against the tile.

 

Draco couldn't help but admire his slave and the angles his body made, and the way his arse jutted up- it was like a beacon. He set his bag down and reached his hand out, feeling the warmth and the softness of the skin under his palm. Harry bounced lightly under his touch. "Get up, Pet." Draco said, offering his hand to help him. "We're done here."

 

Harry rolled his head on the floor, and pushed his bottom up again, against Draco's hand. Draco's breath hitched. "If you don't get up now, I am going to take you right here," he husked, voice full of promise.

 

Harry moaned and drew his knees forward, forcing his bottom up higher, displaying the plug.

 

With a groan of his own, Draco lowered his fly and released himself. Then, he pulled on the plug until it was free, using some of the residual lube to grease the hard length of his throbbing cock. "Gods!" He cried out as he sheathed himself with a hard thrust. "Harry..." He whispered, and thrust slowly a few times. After all that Draco had done to him, Harry deserved his attentiveness, but Draco found he had no self-restraint left. He gripped Harry's hips and fucked him hard. He only lasted a minute or so, before he came, gasping and spasming. He pressed inside of Harry's wet channel, stroking his back softly while he caught his breath. After Draco uncoupled them, he replaced the plug, but only because he was more interested in returning to his room than he was in dealing with a mess. He stook shakily, and held his hand out to Harry again. "Come here, Pet."

 

Harry took his hand this time, and Draco apparated them to the bedroom. He let Harry cling to him for a few minutes, and then Draco left to draw a bath. "Come on," He beckoned to Harry from the bathroom door, then steered him toward the tub. Draco climbed in and settled himself behind Harry, then took up a sponge and began to bathe him. "You were right," He said, letting his chin rest on Harry's shoulder as he drew bubbles over Harry's abused torso. "Losing myself in you is far superior than anything else." He felt Harry smile, and kissed his cheek, then guided him to lay back against him.

 

"Mmmmh," Harry sighed as Draco's hand found his flagging, untended erection and stroked it back to full attention. "I am yours to use, Master." 

 

Draco's smile faded slightly at the canned respoonse. "Don't say that." He felt Harry's posture stiffen, and with some effort, the slave pulled himself upright, twisting to face him.

 

"I am yours, Master." The inflection in his voice and the look in his eyes were nowhere near canned.

 

After the beating Draco had selfishly delivered, he wondered how such a thing was possible. He wanted as much to chalk it up to Griffyndorian loyalty as he didn't. He sneered, but it felt disingenuous."Even after what I've done to you?"

 

Harry had the audacity to turn, lean nearer, brace his hands on Draco's shoulders. Their lips brushed as he spoke. "Because of it."

 

"Liar." Draco accused. "You say what you think I want to hear." He pushed Harry back to arms length and eyed him.

 

"No," Harry said wondrously. He seemed genuinely confused that Draco would say such a thing. 

 

"I know you hate it, Harry."

 

"I thought I did, once." Harry cocked his head. "Master."

 

"Once?"

 

"I should think it was obvious I enjoyed it today." Harry's knees spread slightly, whether consciously or not, and Draco glanced down at his tumescence.

 

"And before?" Draco was confused.

 

"I hated that you beat me with anger instead of passion. I thought you wanted to hurt me. To break me. No one had ever treated me like that before. But now I understand you had to do it. You had to push me so you would know my limits, and I would yeild. If you hadn't done it, I would never have been able to respect you. But you stopped, you stopped when you knew I was trying. Today, I said I trusted you, and that was the truth. I said I would take more for you, and that was true too. I cannot deny what my body responds to. It responds...to you. I am yours, and you...you are my Master." Harry's cheeks were pink, and he glanced up from under his lashes to find Draco staring at him.

 

Draco reached out slowly, his fingers curling around the back of Harry's neck. That Harry had found such acceptance in his early actions when even Draco knew they had been deplorable...that was something. That Harry was offering himself, and claiming Draco in return, well...that was unfathomable. There was something swelling inside of him. A feeling, he wasn't sure what it was. He only knew he had to draw Harry to him, and kiss him until they both were suffering from lack of air. "Why?" He whispered, sucking in a breath and pressing their foreheads together.

 

"Why what, Master?"

 

Draco shook his head. He wasn't sure what he was asking himself. Finally, he nudged Harry back and pointed with his chin. "Up on your knees, so I can get your back."

 

Harry rose as directed and braced himself on the edge of the tub, pushing back against his master when his hand lingered on his swollen buttocks.

 

Draco felt his prick waking again as his fingers smoother over the angles of Harry's fit, stroke-marred body. He dropped the sponge, and watched the last rivulets of water roll off his fingers and down the curve of of his arse. After a minute, he let his fingers drift along the cleft. "Hold..." he husked. "Hold yourself open for me."

 

Harry's hands came around and he spread himself, pushing his arse up out of the water as he leaned his chest against the edge of the tub. He grunted when the plug came free. Draco watched Harry's stretched rim clench, and a droplet of come made its way down and out over flushed, pink flesh. "Fuck, that's hot." he whispered, canted his hips, and rubbed himself against Harry's thigh until he was fully hard again. 

 

"Master is insatiable," Harry said, his voice laced with amusement and desire.

 

"You're so fucking beautiful," Draco said, fingering him teasingly. There was more, but he couldn't vocalize what he felt.

 

"Master, please..." Harry rolled his hips, pushing himself down on Draco's fingers. Draco drew them away and replaced them with his cock. He lost himself for the second time to the wet, sucking heat and the soft, mewling sounds of his slave. The second 'Master, please' to escape Harry's lips was so breathy and full of need, so wanton and desirous that Draco found himself coming, and coming hard before he could even deny the request.

 

They lingered in the bath for some time, Draco's hand lazy and teasing, but not fulfilling Harry's needs. Eventually, he worked his soapy fingers inside of Harry to clean him there, too. When he was done, Draco drained the tub, and toweled himself dry, then turned his attention back to Harry. He dried him gently, then pushed him out of the bathroom and toward the bed.

 

Draco disapeared, and returned with a slave, which he worked into the abraded skin of Harry's torso, front and back. Then he slipped down to his knees, working the salve in to his calves and knees and thighs. Harry's legs spread, and he groaned again as Draco's fingers neared his cock, standing proudly and demanding attention. "I didn't forget you, love." Draco said, capping the salve and setting it aside. He nuzzled Harry's right inner thigh, licked at a thin switch-mark, and then sucked one of Harry's testicles into his mouth. Harry trembled under the touch, until Draco drew free and pressed him down against the mattress. Draco kissed a trail down his belly, and then up his shaft before drawing him into his mouth. He sucked and swirled his tongue, drawing Harry in as far as he could take him. Harry started to lift his hips, but forced his bottom back down against the mattress, and grabbed handfuls of the duvet.

 

Draco drew off and touched Harry's hand. "You can come," he said.

 

Harry's head lifted. "Now?!" He said incredulously. It was obvious that he was heading swiftly toward release, but was not that close.

 

"Whenever you need to," Without another word, Draco gripped the base of Harry's prick in his right hand, and resumed his oral ministrations. He laved the pulsing vein on the underside of his shaft, then let his teeth graze the crown as he pulled back. 

 

Harry was practically vibrating on the mattress, his body taut with need. Suddenly, Harry's drew up his knees, balancing his heels on the edge of the mattress. "Ohh, please..." he whispered breathlessly.

 

"What?" Draco pulled off with a pop, but Harry only shook his head side to side, and lifted his rump again. "This?" With his free hand, he touched Harry's swollen, pink furled entrance, and his hips surged up.

 

"Yes!"

 

Amazed, Draco sank two spit-slicked digits into him, and angled them, rubbing Harry's prostate softly.

 

Harry keened and rocked his hips harder. When Draco sucked his throbbing cock back into his mouth, Harry thrashed. "No, no, don't, Merlin. Oh! I can't..gonna...Oh! Draco-oh-oh-oh!" His orgasm flooded Draco's mouth with bitter salt. He collected the majority of it on his tongue, though he did swallow some, and after Harry was spent, collapsing back on the mattress, he eased his fingers out of him. Harry sighed, shuddering one last time, clenching his muscles at a last ditch effort to keep a part of Draco inside of him.

 

Draco crawled up the length of Harry's body, and claimed his mouth with a kiss, sharing Harry's seed between them.

 

"Sorry!" Harry suddenly yelped out, breaking the kiss and turning his head. "I'm sorry, Master....sorry, sorry, sorry..."

 

Draco eyed him with concern, and turned his face back toward him. "What are you sorry for, Pet?"

 

"I didn't give you enough warning, I-"

 

Draco shushed him with two fingers against Harry's lips. "You were perfect in every way." He smoothed Harry's hair and smiled when Harry licked at his fingers. He slid his leg over Harry's hips, leaning over to embrace and kiss him again. "Mine." he said, tucking his face into the crook of Harry's neck to suck a worry a patch of flesh between his teeth. "Mine." He would claim every part of his body with a kiss if he had to. 

 

But, Harry leaned into the embrace, and wrapped his arms around Draco's back. "Yes, yours," he sighed with satisfaction, baring his neck to make the marking easier. 

 

After some time, Draco pulled away, and found Harry drifting on the edge of sleep. He started to rouse, and Draco shushed him, lifted him farther up on the mattress, and drew the blanket over them before pulling him possessively into his arms. "Go back to sleep," he murmured. "I think we're both due a nap."


	48. Chapter 48

The air was thick with emotion and veritably crackled with the tension of Draco's unspoken grief. It had been building over the course of two weeks, as he was confined to The Manor. Narcissa pestered him, rather unneccesarily, Harry thought, with last minute details and preparations which certainly did not need Draco's opinion or intervention.

 

Today was the beginning of the end. Draco had woken with a start, untangled himself from Harry's arms, where he had spent the night, curled and fitfully dozing, then rolled onto his belly, burying his face under the pillow. He shook off Harry's hand, refusing to dress for breakfast, in favor of laying in bed, as though he could shut out the world that way. Harry sat on the floor beside Draco, hugging his knees to his chest and wishing desperately that there was something more that he could do, but knowing he had done all he was capable of.

 

Finally, Draco dragged himself up, his hair sticking up in some places and matted in others, looking far worse for wear than Harry thought he ever had. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks were sallow, the bones looking especially prominent. A cursory glance in the bathroom mirror made him curse, but even that was hollow. He washed his face haphazardly and let Harry dress him before sinking wordlessly into a chair that faced the window.

 

Even Narcissa frowned on entering the suite. "Draco, dear, are you rea- Oh. Oh my." She took him in her arms even though he turned his back to her, and she pressed his head to her shoulder, rocking him ever so softly for a moment. Harry wasn't sure what happened for the several minutes of silence that followed after that, as he'd slunk away and made himself busy with something that didn't truly need doing. But then Narcissa was taking action, summoning a house-elf and some Pepper-Up, a plate of pastries that ultimately went uneaten anyway, and a shot of Firewhiskey, that Draco readily accepted. He tipped the glass up expertly, but after he'd swallowed, he gagged, grabbing the chair with one hand and covering his mouth with the other. "Salazar!" he ground out between clenched teeth, throwing the shot glass away from him. It bounced once-thank Merlin for expensive, thick glass, and skittered across the floor.

 

Narcissa's brow furrowed and she touched her son's arm lightly. "Draco, we've got to get going..."

 

"I can't..." he whispered.

 

"You can, and you will." Came the icy instruction from the hallway. Harry wondered exactly how long Lucius had been witness to Draco's imminent breakdown. "Stand up, lift your chin, and stop with the self-pity. That's not how I raised you. You're a Malfoy, this is the night before your wedding. You have nothing to drag your feet for."

 

Harry cringed and waited to see if Draco was going to go completely 'round the twist. But instead, he struggled to pull himself upright, closing his eyes as though he were willing himself to continue. When he opened his eyes, he looked as vacant as the slave at Lucius' heels. Like an automaton. Lucius didn't seem to notice. He reitterated the location of the Wizarding hotel in Wales that had been booked for the wedding, it's participants, and guests. Draco nodded, reaching his hand out sideways toward Harry without looking at him.

 

"Leave the boy," Lucius snorted. "You'll have the young Mr. Zabini to help you with what you need. Astoria isn't going to want an audience on her wedding night."

 

That seemed to startle Draco alive again. "No!" he growled, snagging Harry's arm and pulling him close. "He comes with me, or I swear to you, I won't go."

 

Lucius raised his palms in mock-defeat, though his eyes blazed with the fury of being defied once more. "Have it your way." He turned then, beckoning to his wife even as he addressed his son. "I expect to meet you in the lobby. If you are not there in ten minutes, which is more than generous, you will be sorry, mark my words, Draco." At that, he turned on his heel, and took off at a clipped pace, down the hallway and out of sight, presumably to gather their own luggage. 

 

 

 

There was nearly an altercation in the lobby of the hotel, shortly after Draco and Harry's arrival. It all began when Blaise entered and approached, letting his hand fall on Draco's shoulder to announce his presence. Draco whirled, snarled, then shoved the dark-skinned hand away from his person. "You are only here because Mother said it was far too late to change the wedding announcements. Do not mistake her allowance of your presence as forgiveness for your traitorous actions."

 

"Salazar, Draco," Blaise scowled. "You've blatantly ignored my owls, and conveniently been indisposed both of the times I've bothered to come out to the manor. Hear me out and let me apologize, proper."

 

"I owe you nothing." Draco turned his back to Blaise after accepting the room key from the nervous looking desk-clerk. "So kindly take a hint and fuck off." He looked briefly over his shoulder, eyes smoldering. "And do try to restrain yourself from twisting the knife while you're back there. Harry, come."

 

Harry trotted after Draco with their luggage, after sending an apologetic look to Blaise, who only glowered in the direction of Draco's hastily retreating form.

 

In their rented suite, Harry made himself useful by putting away the clothes, and didn't stop Draco from helping himself to the minibar. Harry's skin was amply bruised, reddened, and abraded from his recent martyrdom. At this point, he couldn't fault Draco from wanting a drink. The icy atmosphere in the room was making him want one, too.

 

This time, Draco didn't even get the mouth of the bottle to his lips before he started to choke. It seemed his body was rejecting even the thought of another bender like the last one. He threw it at the wall, and chased it with a number of colorful explicatives before slumping dejectedly into the nearest chair.

 

 

 

In the dim, twilight-lit room, Blaise took another swig of bourbon from his pocket flask, which had been intended to be used in celebration the following day, but was rapidly disappearing, as it seemed Draco's foul mood was contagious. A slow burn made it's way down his throat, spreading through his chest and down, heating his belly. The fog creeping around his brain did nothing to ease the pain he was feeling, however. Draco was an ungrateful sod. The worst kind of friend, a taker. A leech. The sort who hung around and bled you dry, and never offered anything of himself in return. He didn't deserve Astoria. He didn't deserve her soft curves or pouty lips. He didn't deserve her cunning intelligence or playfulness. He didn't deserve her wealth, or status, her attention, affection, or adoration. He didn't deserve her friendship or tolerance, or even her pity. But most of all, he didn't deserve access to her quim, or command of her womb, to share her blood to make an heir....Blaise snorted. It wasn't as if Draco'd even wanted any of those things either.

 

Astoria had wanted to bequeath them to Draco, though, once. But now....Blaise cringed as his thoughts were punctuated by a well-timed duet of shattering glass on the shared wall to his right and muffled wailing beneath his feet. He had the unfortunate circumstance of being boarded directly above Astoria, and immediately adjacent to Draco; the effects being that he was subjected to the sounds of misery of two other mourning souls, in addition to his own. He took another swig, filling his mouth with the spiced liquid, and then shook his head side to side, feeling it slosh against the inner walls of his cheeks, roll over his gums, seep between his teeth. Finally he swallowed, balled his fist, and swung it into the free air. There was no satisfaction of impact, and his momentum carried him in a half circle. Between the two of them, he was going to be barking mad by morning.

 

Blaise sucked at the flask again, and finding it empty, threw it away from himself. There was a tinny clatter as it bounced along the floor, and another, heavier sound. He ran his hands over his face and into his hair, then turned. Yes, perhaps there was a mini-bar in his suite, and if not, he'd have to find his way downstairs. The night was young, and he was still not drunk enough to drown the agony that came with knowing that the girl he loved was going to marry someone else. Before he could make it halfway across the room, the heavy thud came again, and again, and after a minute, he realized it was the sound of someone at the door. He peered through the peep, caught a distorted flash of wild black hair, pale skin, and wide, green eyes.

 

"Harry..." Blaise said, pulling the door open with a frown. His hand came out and closed around Harry's wrist, dragging him inside. "What the bloody devil are you doing out there? Dangerous, you know? You know how many wizards are lurking around this hotel-"

 

"You have to help him, Sir. Master Blaise. Please, I-"

 

"Help who?" Blaise heard himself slur.

 

"Master Draco." Harry said with a gulp. "Please."

 

Blaise scoffed and turned away from Harry, resuming his quest for the minibar. "Him?" What the bloody fuck would I do that for? That idiot. That selfish fuck. I-"

 

"Please?" Harry's hand fell lightly on Blaise's shoulder.

 

Bad idea. Blaise turned, his forearm finding Harry's throat, and pressing him back against the nearest wall.

 

"What would you have me do, hmm? For the man who won't even speak to me, his self-purported best friend?" His face loomed so close to Harry's that he could feel the short, panting little breaths escaping him. "The man who is more selfishly concerned about his reputation than the feelings of his soon-to-be wife, or those of that same 'best friend'?"

 

"Sir!" Harry gasped, wide eyed, his hands clutching Blaise's forearm where it was cutting off his air.

 

Blaise's eyes darkened. "Perhaps I should take the one thing that matters to him in reciprocation for what he'll be doing to me...." Blaise's full lips found Harry's, and the slave went suddenly still, then struggled to turn his head away. 

 

"Sir, I don't think..." 

 

There was a touch of panic in his voice, and that had always excited Blaise, he liked a bit of a fight, especially in contrast to his ever-obedient Alexei, who, mores the pity, had been left home for this affair. He pulled Harry back from the wall before shoving him against it again. Enough to show he meant business, but not enough to knock him into sedation. With a firm hand, he pulled Harry's face to the side and lowered his mouth toward the slave's neck. Even in the darkness of the room, he could see the lurid mark, hovering above the collar of the shirt. The mark of Draco's passion branded in red and purple sworls in Harry's skin. He sneered to himself and turned Harry's head the other way, preparing to rake his teeth across fresh skin there. Instead, there was another love bite. It turned his stomach, and he hitched his finger into Harry's shirt collar, pulling it down, stretching the neck line. There were others, brusing the collar bone, dancing their way around Harry's neck, in various stages of resolution, faded and fresh.

 

"Marked you all up, has he?" Blaise scowled. He fisted his hands in Harry's shirt and turned him away from the wall. "Get out of here before I change my mind."

 

Harry stumbled back a few paces, then sank to his knees. "I...Sir. Master Blaise, Sir. Please...I...there isn't anything else I can do for him. Please....you...isn't there something you can do? To make it stop?" There came the sound of another glass, thudding into the wall, crashing against the floor, smashing into a million pieces, and both of the men in Blaise's suite flinched.

 

"And what would you have me do?" Blaise bellowed. In response, the keening wail that had since died down, wavered up in pitch again. It made him tear at his hair. "Do you hear that?" he gestured to the floor. "That sound....that sound is going to be the end of me."

 

"Make it stop." Harry whispered. "For all of you."

 

Blaise stooped, jerking Harry up and leading him out of the room by the wrist. He stormed down the hallway, and practically kicked the door to Draco's suite in.

 

Draco startled in the chair he occupied. "You..." he said, narrowing his brows. 

 

Blaise slung Harry between them. He'd meant to accompany it with some inflammatory statement encouraging Draco to keep better track of his property, but what came out instead was, "You can't marry Astoria." 

 

Harry had crawled forward, curling his arms around Draco's knees and burying his face in his lap, and Draco pet him absently as he turned a wistful look toward the window. "I know," He said in a removed voice. "I've been saying it all along. But here I am, and here she is, and tomorrow..." he lifted his hand and made a vague gesture."What's it to you, anyway?"

 

Blaise seized Draco by the wrist, his grip just as tight as it had been with Harry, and he yanked the would-be bridegroom from his chair, pulling him close even as he stumbled over his slave. "I love her." Blaise released Draco then, and he took two steps back. They each wore twin expressions of surprise.

 

"You what?"

 

"Love her." Blaise repeated. "Salazar, Draco. Don't do this. The both of you are too stubborn and too proud, but one of you has to stand up and call it off." He felt the fuzz swimming around his brain begin to dissipate.

 

Draco snorted. "Do you honestly think I haven't tried? I told my parents that I wasn't going to marry her two weeks ago, and d'you know what happened? They laughed at me."

 

"Draco," Blaise implored.

 

"What?!" Draco snapped irately. "What, Blaise, would you have me do?"

 

Blaise's eyes roamed the room wildly, finally settling on Harry. "Take your golden boy and get the fuck out of here."

 

"Oh, you think it's just so easy to-" Draco began to argue. Then, he suddenly stopped talking, "What did you call him?"

 

"Your Golden Boy." Blaise repeated with an eyeroll. "Honestly, not the worst thing either of us have ever said about him. And there are more pressing matters at hand."

 

"No." Draco whispered, looking more hopeful now than he had in months. "The Golden One." An almost maniacal laugh escaped him. "Don't you remember what The Oracle told me?" When Blaise shook his head, Draco crossed to his luggage, and tore his journal from one of the pockets. He flipped the pages to nearly the beginiing, with a heavily noted and marked page. His finger found the spot, and he quoted, "The Golden One is within reach, but the course must change if the seeker is to catch the snitch. ." He snapped the book shut gleefully. "Don't you see? I thought it was her, Astoria, but The Oracle meant Harry all along. Oh Merlin, fuck." He rubbed his hands over his face, then clasped his hands together in an effort to contain his excitement. "Well, that changes everything..."

 

Blaise looked a mixture of dubious and confused. "You're going to, then? Just..." he waved his hand. "Take off? On the basis of that?"

 

"Yes." Draco said, distractedly. He turned his back on Blaise again and went to the closet where Harry had hung his clothes earlier in the day.

 

Blaise watched as Draco began to wave his wand, repacking his things with a careless haste. "Draco," he said, as though unsure of his words. "I oughtn't say this, but..."

 

Draco interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You want her, she's yours. As far as I'm concerned, you just saved my life."

 

"Well, that was a given," Blaise snorted. "What I was going to say is that your parents are going to go 'round the twist..."

 

"I know," Draco said again. "But you can't argue with destiny." He flashed a wry grin. "They'll get over it. Of course, it means I'll have to lay low for awhile to avoid father's wrath..." he frowned suddenly and turned. "My inheritance."

 

"What about it?" Blaise narrowed his eyes.

 

"It's conditional on fulfilling the terms of our marriage contract and producing an heir..."

 

"They'll get over it, you said." Blaise pointed out.

 

"I know, but...but what if they don't?"

 

Blaise assured him. "You'll think of something."

 

"Easy for you to say!" Draco scowled. "You've got your inheritance already, no danger of it going anywhere, is there? How am I supposed to live if I haven't any money?"

 

"You're really going to stake the happiness of three people over a pile of galleons?"

 

"Whose side are you on?" Draco demanded. "You'd have me living in Knockturn Alley, begging for knuts while you live like a prince with my bride..."

 

"Merlin's balls, Draco!" Blaise rubbed his face angrilly. "I will make sure you're not begging for knuts, alright? Worst comes to worst, I will let you stay at The Villa until you get on your feet. Whatever it takes. You have my word."

 

A knock came at the door and Draco froze, looking like a deer in the headlights. "Shut it!" He hissed unnecessarily as the room fell silent. "Who is it?" He called while flapping his hand at Harry.

 

"Might I suggest you open the door and see for yourself?" came a dry, humourless tone.

 

Harry opened the door at Draco's nod. "Professor Snape!" Harry announced, ducking his head in what appeared to be deference.

 

Severus' black eyes swept over Harry and his lip curled in a sneer. "Potter, I can't say that I approve of your position, though it certainly has endeavored to instill a modicum of humility and obedience in you: For that, I should be ever grateful to you, Draco." His eyes shifted as he addressed his Godson. 

"Sir," Harry murmured.

 

Draco put on a smile. "Thanks, Sev. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" He gestured smoothly to the chair he'd recently vacated. "Can I offer you a drink? The best of the minibar, or, if it's not to your liking, I can send for room service..."

 

Severus Snape drew himself up as he looked between Blaise and Draco. "No," He gave his customary nasal drawl. "I see you are busy entertaining Mr. Zabini, and I don't wish to interrupt. However," He reached his hand into the folds of his robe and withdrew a thin phial containing a misty, green-grey fluid, and set it on the coffee table. "Your mother did ask me to stop by and check on you, she was concerned that you might be in need of a calming draught. I will tell her her concerns were unwarrented, although, I will leave this for you in case you find your nerves wear thin and the night grows long." He exchanged a long, unreadable look with Draco, then nodded in acknowledgement at Blaise before making a hasty departure.

 

"The fuck was that about?" Blaise cursed when he'd gone. 

 

"My father has been sending people around to 'check on me' all evening, presumably to make sure I haven't backed out of the contract, or drank myself into a stupor. Severus will report back that I am in your company, and that should satisfy him for a time."

 

Blaise nodded uneasily and ran a hand over his head. "I don't know." He looked toward the door, then down at the phial Severus had left behind. "S'that?"

 

Draco scatched it up and held it to the light, watching the mist curl and cling to the glass. "He said it was a calming draught,"

 

Blaise tilted his head up, then frowned. "Doesn't look like any calming draught I've ever seen..."

 

"I was thinking the same. Dreamless sleep? Can't be, that's purple."

 

"Maybe he isn't pulling for you as much as you thought. And what was that look about?"

 

"He's a Legilimens," Draco shrugged. "He taught me Occlumency, though. Didn't seem surprised when I 'blanked out'."

 

"You're sure he didn't find out?" Blaise chewed his bottom lip a moment. "He rather left in a hurry."

 

"No," Draco drawled, though he pursed his lips in thought. A long silence descended upon them, during which time, Harry came back to rest, sitting on his heels at Draco's feet. Draco absently carded his hand through Harry's hair, then sighed.

 

Blaise finally snapped out of his reverie, his eyes darting to Draco. "We've wasted enough time. If you're going to go, you've got to go now."

 

"Alright," Draco ceded, almost too easily. He lifted his wand with purpose and finished packing a few things into his suit case before he shrunk it, and slipped it into his pocket. "And what are you going to do?"

 

"I don't know. Stall them if they come for you, somehow."

 

Draco nodded. "You're a better friend than I ever gave you credit for..."

 

Blaise waved dismissively, though a fleeting smile crossed his face. "You bloody hufflepuff. Get out of here." He flapped his hand at the two of them again.

 

Draco's fingers tightened on his wand, and he took one last breath, before circling his arm around Harry's waist. 

 

"Drake-" Blaise said suddenly, as though he'd just thought of something else. Draco lifted his chin in response. "If I were you, I'd clear out your bank account, take what you need from The Manor, and lie low for awhile."

 

"That was the plan,"

 

"Alright," Blaise said. "Go then."

 

There was only a moment of hesitation, and then Draco cast a Disillusionment charm over them both, and strode toward the door. They had to make it past the lobby of the hotel before they could Apparate away. 

 

Luckily for them, this was the time of night when most wizards occupied themselves with a late dinner, or drinks in the hotel bar. There were few people milling about the hallways, and Draco silently thanked the Gods for blessing them with such good fortune. Their only close call came when they were descending the stairwell. Theodore Nott was standing on the bottom landing, swirling a brandy and entertaining a small host of unfamiliar older men, whom could only be presumed to be from his family. Draco held his breath and stepped back, pressing Harry into the wall as a man with a rather large and curly mustache threw back his head and laughed, nearly careening into them. Draco and Harry stood stock still. Draco could feel Harry's rapid, birdy pulse beat through Harry's chest and against his shoulderblade.

 

After what seemed like forever, but was in reality, less than twenty agonizing seconds, the group of men shifted enough that Harry and Draco were able to slip past.

 

Draco didn't dawdle: As soon as the crisp night air touched his face, they were gone, the sound echoing off the grotto leaving the outdoor patrons craning their necks, and then shrugging.


	49. Chapter 49

Blaise took several minutes to compose himself after Draco and Harry had gone. He needed the time to chase the last wisps of inebriation away, and to formulate a plan. Finally, he stood, straightened his shoulders, and cracked his knuckles. With calm confidence, he descended the stairs, making his way to the room immediately below his. He straightened his shirt collar, smoothed the front down, and then ran his hand down over his hair. He took one final deep breath, and then knocked on the door.

 

Daphne answered, and narrowed her eyes. "Blaise Zabini. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

 

"'Lo, Daphne. You're looking appropriately radiant tonight."

 

She scoffed. "I would be, if I weren't sharing the room with-" she was interrupted by a warbling wail. "With that." She gestured vaguely behind her and stepped into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her. "What do you want, Blaise?"

 

"About...'that', incidentally...I thought I would come and see if she'd like to go for a walk-"

 

Daphne's eyebrow sliced upward with such force that Blaise felt his stomach clench.

 

"My intentions are entirely honorable, I can assure you."

 

A snide smile formed on Daphne's face. "There isn't an honorable bone in your lecherous body, and we both know it."

 

"Look, Daph," Blaise appealed to her. "I've got the room above yours, and I've been listening to Tori cry all evening. I can only imagine how you must be feeling, since I'm about ready to go round the twist myself. I just thought that maybe I could take her out, get her mind off...things...for a few minutes. It'd give you a break. But if you'd rather..."

 

Daphne assessed him again, then slipped wordlessly inside. Blaise waited for several minutes as the crying died down then stopped, leaning his body against the doorjamb, until finally the door opened.

 

"B-blaise?" Astoria whispered, peeking through the crack.

 

"Yeah, Cucciola Mia, I'm here."

 

"What are you doing here? Y-you owled me and s-said w-we c-c-could n-n-nev-ever..." She started tearing up and sniffling again.

 

"I made a mistake." Blaise whispered. "But, I'd rather not talk about it here. Come for a walk with me, won't you?"

 

Her face disappeared briefly as she looked over her shoulder. Then, the door opened fully and she emerged, clutching a silk, ivory dressing robe around her shoulders. The lapel was damp in several places, as though she'd used it to dry her face. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her usually porcelain skin was mottled and pink.

 

Blaise found he didn't care. He drew Astoria into his embrace, murmuring sweet nothings into her cornsilk hair as she clung to him. "Run away with me," he couldn't help but murmur.

 

Astoria's fingers dug into his biceps. "What did you s-say?"

 

"Run away with me," his lips brushed the tips of her ears, and made her shiver.

 

"Blaise," she sighed.

 

"Not here." he said, taking her hand. "Come on." he had to tug her twice, but then she followed after him, letting herself be led down the hallway.

 

"Where're you going with my sister-in-law, Zabini?" Theo leered at him as they passed a boisterous group of gentlemen at the bottom of the stairs in the lobby.

 

"If your prick was as long as your nose, Daphne would be a happier bride," Blaise replied snidely. He left the guffawing men behind and drew Tori out past the grotto and toward the moonlit lawn. When they were sufficiently alone, he stopped and took her hand. "Run away with me." He said again. "Marry me."

 

"You're joking." Astoria said as she eyed him. When he shook his head, she drew her hand away, and slapped him. "You bastard! Why would you do this to me? Why now? Why tonight? You've ignored me for the last two weeks, and you do this now? Fuck you, fuck you Blaise!" She slapped at his chest again and again.

 

Blaise let her hit him several times, and then he finally caught her wrists. "Stop it. Listen to me. You're right to be angry. I should have done something sooner. But there's something I have to tell you." He held her wrists firmly until she stopped struggling and looked at him.

 

"Draco is gone." he said lowly. She gasped. "He's gone. I've been to see him before you, and I managed to talk some sense into him. Or out of him. I don't know. It doesn't matter." he released her to rub his face. "He's gone, somewhere, I don't even know where, and he won't be back. Not tomorrow, or anytime soon, I wager. Which means you can stop crying, whatever you do. Marry me, or don't. Run away with me, or don't. But for the love of Merlin," he reached out and caressed her face. "Don't cry anymore, Tessorina. I can't take it, it's killing me."

 

Astoria made a sound that was half laugh, and half strangled cry before throwing herself at Blaise. She slipped her arms around his neck and held him tightly. "Ask me again," she said after a minute.

 

Blaise pulled away from her and knelt, Muggle fashion. "Astoria, will you-"

 

"Yes!" she interrupted with a giggle.

 

Blaise grinned and took her hand, then grimaced, as he realized that Draco's diamond still graced her finger. He worked it off with a scowl and threw it away from them, earning another gasp from Astoria. "I'll buy you a new one. A bigger one. A prettier one. Whatever you want. The moon," he said sappily. "It's yours,"

 

"Blaise?" Astoria said, leaning over to kiss his mouth. "Take me away from here."

 

"Where?" he breathed, standing.

 

"To Italy." She said with a smile. "Take me home."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Might I make a suggestion, Sir?" Harry asked as he crept into Draco's field of view. Harry's master had been standing in the suite that he had occupied since childhood, looking overwhelmed at the prospect of packing. Harry knew they were wasting precious time. It was anyone's guess when it would be discovered that Draco was missing from the hotel.

 

Draco canted his head in allowance.

 

Harry opened the bureau as he spoke. "A week's worth of clothes: trousers...." He began to sort through them, chosing those practical for the season, and laid them over his forearm. "Shirts," Draco relieved him of the bottoms and directed them into the open trunk that Harry had set on the mattress for him. "A few sweaters," Harry chose Draco's favorite two, one deep green-grey, the other a soft, black cashmere. "Something formal," Harry had no idea how long they would be in hiding, or what Draco may have need for. There was a gentle screech as Harry pulled open both of the lower drawers at once. "Socks." He narrated, although it was obvious now that he was putting together outfits. "A few ties."

 

Draco contined to direct the clothing into his chest, while Harry moved on to the shelves.

 

"Books," Harry said, knowing full well it would be idiocy to expect Draco to go any period of time without a few of his most precious tomes. He selected both potions book Draco had referenced time and again. "What else?" Harry questioned, turning to face Draco.

 

Draco was silent a moment as he contemplated. "Charms." he said. "And Herbology." Good, practical choices that might benefit them. "Alchemy."

 

"Which one is that, Sir?" Harry frowned when he failed to locate it.

 

"The purple one with the gold sheen." Draco wagged his finger to indicate the book from afar. When Harry identified it, he relieved Harry of his burden and stuffed them into the quickly filling trunk.

 

Harry disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a few washcloths and handtowels, a towel each, some soaps and lotions.

 

"Merlin, Harry." Draco gave a little laugh. "Are we going to be living out of a tent?"

 

"I don't know, Sir. Are we?"

 

A look flashed across Draco's face, and Harry knew that Draco hadn't considered the possibility, but they couldn't rule anything out. "Alright." Draco repacked the books on top of the towels to weigh them down. He had Harry sit on the lid of the trunk so that he could latch it properly, and then shrunk the whole thing down. 

 

Harry had packed his few posessions already, and indicated his smaller trunk with a nod of his head. "There's still room, if you can think of anything else." 

 

Draco peered inside, lifted Harry's short stack of clothes, and sifted through the array of toys packed beneath. He barked out a laugh as he pulled out a bottle of lube and a butt plug, only to let them fall back haphazardly. "Looks like you've got the essentials covered."

 

Harry flushed. 

 

Draco waved his hand dissmissively and pulled Harry close. "I was only teasing." He ruffled Harry's hair, then smoothed it, tilting his head to kiss the crown. "In our hurry, we may forget something important..I'm glad you're on top of things."

 

Each of them made another cursory tour around the room, Draco came up empty handed, but Harry returned with the box that held his wand. Draco went back to his desk for their contract, and added a few quills and some parchment. Whatever else they might need, they would have to purchase at a later date. Draco latched Harry's trunk, and flicked his wand to re-size it. 

 

There was a great bluster of wind as Artemis, Draco's owl, came flapping into the room at high spead from outside. He hooted noisily as he perched on Harry's shoulder, and pecked the air near Draco.

 

"No, we won't forget you, either, Artie," Draco said, inching his fingers out to give him a pat. "We'll need you more now, than ever." Artemis preened and allowed Draco to touch him, then headbutted Harry, who ran his fingers over the bird's head and scratched his feathers.

 

Draco drew his hand away from his owl and idly stroked the duvet. Then, his eyes flickered over the remainder of his room, clouding slightly.

 

In the meanwhile, Harry found Artemis' cage, and coaxed him into it. "We should go, Master." Harry whispered, slipping his hand into Draco's. Draco nodded and squeezed Harry's fingers briefly. 

 

 

 

Draco had Apparated them to a small wizarding village in Sweeden. Harry thought it might have been the same one they'd visited on that disatrous day in December, when he'd run into Ron and Hermoine in the bookstore. In the darkness, it was hard to tell, even though the cobblestoned streets looked familiar. Draco quickly navigated them to an out-of-the-way inn, and paid the yawning night clerk for a room. Now, he was standing at the tiny window, looking out into the dark. The room was lit only by the starlight streaming past Draco's form, which was shaking slightly.

 

"Come to bed, Master." Harry implored. He had a number of tricks to take Draco's mind off things, and he was more than willing to employ them again.

 

"Can't" Draco said. "Too...wound up. It's over, but it's not." He turned his back to the window and leaned against the sill. "I still can't believe what I've done. They'll all be furious...my parents, the Greengrasses...Astoria..."

 

"Astoria will be just as relieved as you are," Harry pointed out as he climbed from the bed. He slipped next to Draco, who put his arms around him.

 

"I...I've spent the last year of my life, anticipating my life was going to be over shortly."

 

"But now it's just begun!" Harry replied hopefully.

 

"Harry," Draco sighed. "It is not that easy. I haven't even been to Gringotts yet. And, I don't have half the money I should, because I've been pissing it away, expecting to come into more money soon. I don't have the foggiest clue what we're going to do, or where we're going to go..."

 

"But it doesn't matter," Harry reminded him. "Because you're not marrying Astoria anymore-"

 

"And I've got you and that's all that matters?" Draco finished for him in a tone that suggested disbelief.

 

"Isn't it?" Harry's shoulders slumped. Just when he thought he might be through with Draco's mood, it reared it's ugly head and dealt a blow to Harry's fragile ego.

 

Draco let out another long breath. "Yes. No. I don't know. I...I'm...I'm..." The warmth of Draco's body pressed against Harry's dissipated as he drew away to the window again, hugging himself. "Scared." His admission was the barest of a whisper.

 

Harry threw himself at Draco, curling his arms around his waist again, pressing his face between Draco's shoulder-blades, and squeezing tightly. After a few minutes, Draco shifted, slowly turning to face Harry in order to return his embrace.

 

"Bed," Harry whispered, sometime later, as Draco swayed on his feet. This time, Draco did not argue. He let Harry undress him and pull him between the sheets. They slept like spoons. They slept like the dead. They slept, and for the first time in weeks, woke with feelings of hope and promise, and the sense of new adventure.

 

 

 

 

Bride, Groom Missing, But Wedding Goes Ahead

 

The Greengrass/Nott/Greengrass/Malfoy double wedding on Saturday in Wales was a double-disaster. The Prophet was informed that young socialite, Draco Malfoy was reported missing late Friday night. Confidential sources report that he had been suffering from cold feet for some time. Perhaps the bigger surprise was the absence of his bride-to-be, Astoria Greengrass. The recent Hogwart's graduate and debutante was rumored to be very excited about her upcoming wedding. Her presence was missed shortly after a search of the premesis for her would-be-bridegroom turned up empty-handed. It would be easy to speculate that the young couple may have suffered from stage fright, and eloped in the night, however, our sources indicate that something more scandalous may be at hand. 

 

Also reported missing is Blaise Zabini of Grosseto, listed "Best Man" on the uncirculated program. Aurors are currently investigating the purported bizarre love triangle. While it is not yet clear what role Zabini played, guests were overheard commenting on his past romantic involvement with both Malfoy and Greengrass.

 

While the Amadeus and Willow Greengrass had 'No Comment', Lucius Malfoy Malfoy appeared more angry than upset. 'Son? I have no son,' he told reporters at the scene, before Narcissa Malfoy interjected that they were, 'Of course very concerned,' about their missing offspring.

 

Despite missing one half of the double wedding-set, the nuptials of Daphne Greengrass to Theodore Nott continued, much to the chagrin of the absent couple's parents...... 

 

In the small rented room of the inn, Draco let the paper fall from his shaking hands without finishing the article. He was ashen as he gripped Harry's forarm, disallowing the slave to pour his tea. "I've been disowned," he whispered.

 

"No..." Harry said with disbelief.

 

"Yes." Draco said. "I knew they'd be angry. I thought father would even withhold my inheritance for a time. But he's publically renounced me. I've dissappointed him, and worse, shamed the Malfoy name."

 

"Maybe you should owl them," Harry supplied, switching the teapot to his free hand to avoid burning them both, as Draco continued to clutch him.

 

Draco shook his head. "No." He released Harry and swept the newspaper from the table to the floor. "Sod them. I'm their only son, and they couldn't even be arsed to care about my happiness. They only wanted me to get married to produce an heir. They forced me to do this. I wouldn't've had to...if they'd just...Sod them both!" He pointed his wand and incinerated the paper, his face coloring now with rage. 

 

"They'll come around," Harry assured his Master as he tentatively lowered his hands to his shoulders. When Draco didn't push him away, he began to massage his shoulders, digging his fingers into the tense knots bunching near his neck. 

 

Draco hunched over the table with his head in his hands and sighed. "We've still got to get to Gringott's too..."

 

 

 

 

They'd gone to Gringott's, where the line was not very long at all, given the early hour of the day. And despite this, it had taken a long time for service. And then, when Draco was making the appropriate arrangements to clean out his account, the Goblin assisting them had done a very strange thing.

 

"One moment, Mr. Malfoy." He said, and hopped down from his post. He waddled off to the rear of the room, and could be seen talking with another Goblin, who, from the way he was dressed, appeared to be in charge. They exchanged several looks and surreptitiously glanced in Harry and Draco's direction. The bank clerk pulled out a sheaf of parchment, and gestured to it, and then the Senior Goblin nodded, then disappeared around the corner.

 

"Would you mind accompanying me to a waiting room?" The Goblin said as he returned.

 

"What for?"Draco asked suspiciously.

 

"It's just that it will take some time to clear the contents of your vault. We'd like you to be comfortable."

 

Draco frowned. Goblins weren't known to particularly care if their clientelle were comfortable at all. He'd gone on hundreds of trips to the bank with his father from the time he was just a blighter, and not once did he ever remember being escorted to a room, other than the Malfoy family vaults. His gaze shifted and he searched behind the counter for answers. His eyes landed on the old goblin manager, who was returning from the rear of the bank with a sealed parchment and an owl. The clerk followed his gaze and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Mr. Malfoy?"

 

"Perhaps I should come back at a later time," Draco said and took a hesitant step back.

 

The goblin bared his teeth.

 

Draco clutched Harry's arm, the pulled him along. "You know what? Forget I came by."

 

"Sir?" Harry said.

 

Draco shoved at him, "Go. Go! They're stalling us. They're contacting the Aurors. Or worse, my father." They Apparated back from Gringott's as soon as they made it past the wards.

 

"Fuck!" Draco swore, and pounded his fist on the tabletop. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He tore at his hair and turned to face Hairy, his eyes wild. "For once in my bloody fucking life, I'd like something to go right. Salazar! Is that too much to ask for? What the bloody fuck am I supposed to do now!?!"

 

 

 

 

Draco's money would not last them very long at the current rate of the Inn in Sweden. They were going to have to find a cheaper place for the time being, or contact Blaise; neither of which was amenable to Draco.

 

"I have plenty of money," Harry offered. "More than I kn-"

 

Draco silenced him with a raised hand. "I can't take your money, Harry."

 

"Really!" Harry argued. "It's alright, I have-"

 

"Didn't you read your sodding contract?" Draco snapped irritably. "I'm not entitled to any of your material goods or property. In fact, I'm prohibited from laying a finger on it. It's probably the only thing that works in your favor in the the whole sodding thing." He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed, for what seemed like the hundreth time that hour.

 

After Harry had let what he deemed 'a sufficient' amount of time to pass, he crossed to where Draco had thrown his money pouch on the table. He scissored a few coins out. "I'm taking four sickles for the paper," Draco waved at him, even though it was likely he hadn't paid attention to a thing Harry had said. "And then I need to borrow Artemis for the afternoon. S'at alright?"

 

"Do whatever you like," Draco grumbled. "Nothing bloody matters anymore."

 

Night descended upon them while Draco was busy brooding, 'under the pretense of figuring things out'. In the meanwhile, Harry'd gone down to the dining room and returned with a few bowls of soup and bread. Now, Draco was perched sullenly on his chair, sipping delicately from his spoon less frequently than just swirling the contents. But at least he was eating.

 

It was not until mid morning the following day that Artemis returned, hooting lowly and veritably collapsing onto Harry's shoulder. He didn't even have the energy to hold his leg out, and the parchment scroll dug into Harry's neck until he was able to remove it. "Master, did you want to see it first?" Harry gestured with the scroll to Draco.

 

Draco shook his head, and Harry was grateful that he had time to peruse Hermione's response before Draco did. He smiled widely, and told himself he was going to have to remember to thank her, as soon as he could, without sending Artemis on another cross-continental trek. 

 

Harry retrieved yesterday's Daily Prophet from their luggage where he'd stashed it the night before. He slowly approached Draco at the table, biting his lip with apprehension. Finally, he exhaled, and set the paper and the parchment side by side on the tabletop. The paper was folded to the "Careers" segment, and Harry had placed astericks beside several occupations that had openings.

 

"What's this?" Draco demanded, glancing up at Harry.

 

In a rush of words, Harry explained that the stars marked the positions that he thought he was capable of performing, but would need Draco's permission to apply to.

 

"You're asking me if you can get a job?" Draco said in disbelief.

 

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

 

"To support me?" Draco's eyes widened.

 

"Us." Harry clarified.

 

Draco rolled up the paper and thrust it against Harry's chest. "No. Absolutely not." His face was starting to turn red. "I'm not going to sit on my arse while my slave earns my wages for me. I'm supposed to be taking care of you." He held his hand out to Harry suddenly. "On second thought, give that back. I'll...I'll need to apply for some of those myself."

 

Harry tucked the paper behind his back and indicated the response from Hermoine with a nod of his head. "That's for you, Master." Draco gave him a funny look, but picked it up. As he scanned, Harry explained. "Last year, Hermoine went through this big to do, trying to find an apprenticeship after she decided Ministry work wasn't for her. I asked her to send the list of contacts, if she still had it. I...I thought you'd want something more than a job, for yourself. A career. Something respectable. You're as smart as she is. You're not made for cleaning tables in a greasy chippy..."

 

Draco gaped at him. "And you are?! Merlin, Harry. You defeated The Dark Lord. Or did you forget?"

 

Harry squirmed under Draco's scrutiny. "It's not exactly something you put on a resume, yeah? 'Skill's and Experience- Tri-Wizard Tournament Contender, Defeater of Dark Lords, Personal Slave'..."

 

"I'm sure The Great Harry Potter has no need for a resume. You could have done anything. You could have been an Auror. Rumor has it they took you right in. They'd had to've, since they took The Weasel too...Why the bloody hell did you sign your life over to this anyway? Saint Potter, the Martyr. Didn't you get enough medals?"

 

Harry felt his temper flaring. This conversation reminded him of the Draco of a year ago. He took a deep breath and pushed his feelings aside. He leaned over the table, his face dangerously close to Draco's. "Consider it my calling." Harry said lowly. He tugged the parchment back into Draco's line of view. "But this isn't about me. It's about you. Standing up for once and doing something for yourself. It's your chance to prove you're not a poncy rich boy living off his family's gold."

 

Draco's mouth tightened into a thin line and he stared at Harry for what seemed like forever. Then, his attention snapped back to the parchment in his hands. "You are the most insolent curr."

 

"Yes, Sir." Harry agreed, a smile twitching at his lips.

 

"Don't think you won't pay for your indiscretions, my pet."

 

Harry slipped to his knees with a smile and laid his head on Draco's thigh. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Master."

 

"You are truly a masochist," Draco said with wonder and twisted the fingers of one hand into Harry's mane. He tugged and Harry hummed in agreement.


	50. Chapter 50

In the two weeks that passed after Draco 'Black' applied for various apprenticeships, four letters of rejection arrived. He was beginning to think that the other three had blown him off completely. He began to consider the life of hiding and grovelling that lay ahead of him. He supposed he could set aside his pride and hold Blaise to his offer of charity. Lodging in his villa was infinitely more attractive than the idea of having to spell-clean his own sheets in a run-down wizard hostel or worse, a Muggle motel. However, shacking up with Blaise inherently meant shacking up with Astoria as well, and that was an issue he was not yet willing to face.

 

Forget that the Prophet had finally reported that the two of them eloped before Aurors were able to track them down and he was in no emminent danger of being forced to marry her...There was something distinctly unsettling about the prospect of being in close proximity to the woman he'd abandoned at the altar, even if she was just as happy with the situation that he was...

 

Harry had even managed to secure a tidbit of inside information from Ron, who indicated that the Auror's search for 'the elusive Draco Malfoy', as the Prophet reported, was low on their list of priorities now that they were assured that Astoria Greengrass had not been murdered in a dueling broomsticks-type plot.

 

12 Grimmauld Place was their next intended location, as Draco could no longer afford the cost of their suite. He'd been promised that it was secure and secluded, and more than large enough for the two of them. With some degree of distaste, he'd agreed to relocate them there. It was far too close to the world that Draco was longing to flee, but they had few other options. He was just preparing to open the lid of his trunk when a large, gold-feathered owl flew in through the open window of their suite. It stuck out his foot in the most dignified fashion and blinked at Draco until he unfastened the scroll and gave him a hunk of bread leftover from that morning's breakfast. Draco tried to push away the feeling of hope that made his stomach clench, and steeled himself for the sinking feeling of yet another dismissal.

 

Dear Mr. Black,

 

As I have not had an applicant for apprenticeship in nearly a year, and have not taken on a neophyte in nearly five years time, I would be most pleased if you would be able to come for an interview next Monday. It is imperitive that our dispositions are miscible and we are of approximate temperment. My bird shall await your response.

 

Kindly,

 

Roam Skenderian

 

Draco's hands trembled slightly as he clutched the parchment between his fingers. Skenderian seemed crotchety and hard to please, even in his terse, to-the-point note, but this was the opportunity he'd been waiting for. In fact, the Apothecary position had been his first choice out of all that he'd applied to, simply because the field required a combination of potions mastery, alchemy, and detailed spell-work; all of which were appealed to his interests as well as skills.

 

His quill was quickly retrieved, and Draco slipped a fresh piece of paper from his trunk, aware that the Owl's gaze was following him curiously. Though he was well-versed in formal ettiquette, Draco found his response somewhat difficult to pen. Finally he completed a draft that he was satisfied with, and copied it over without mistake. He set it aside to dry for a moment, before curling it and securing it to the owl's foot. With an aristocratic hoot and a powerful flap of it's wings, the bird was gone, leaving Draco to rehash his words, again. Draco toyed with the hem of his shirt, twisting it between his fingers. "Oh, hell." he sighed before striding back toward the bedroom. There was only one thing he could do to take his mind off things, and packing luggage wasn't one of them. Leaning against the door frame, he called softly. "Harry???"

 

 

 

 

Roam Skenderian was a sour-faced wizard with deep wrinkles and the yellowed-white hair of the elderly. His quiet assessment of Draco had made the young man want to squirm, and though Draco had answered each of his questions with careful consideration, he'd known his responses, while mostly truthful, could have been skewed more in his favor. At the end of the interview, the man sat, stroking his chin, beady black eyes squinting at Draco as though he could see his very soul. Finally, he'd nodded once, more to himself than anyone else. "I suppose you'll do." His gruff assent almost sounded like a dismissal, and Draco's heart started to sink before the words themselves sank in. Then, he had to fight to keep himself from leaping up and hugging the man.

 

The meager stipend that the apprenticeship provided was not enough to rent anything decent in the wizarding districts nearby Skenderian's workshop. At Harry's urging, Draco found himself converting the last of his galleons to British Pounds, and spending a day following after a swank-looking Muggle in a pencil-skirt and ill-fitting heels, who marched them all over the South of France, it seemed, evaluating Muggle flats.

 

Draco had no idea what they were looking for, and was only there to serve as translator for Harry, whose grasp of French was limited to his poorly accented though playful, Oui, Monseiur! It was Draco's turn to dutifully follow while the realtor showed them flat after flat in their price range. It was Harry who stepped up, examining the layouts, opening doors and cabinets and pantries, turning on faucets, and flushing loos, and looking as though he knew exactly what he was doing.

 

"And what do you think of this one?"Draco asked, questioned Harry for his opinion on what seemed like this hundreth, but in reality was only the ninth, disgusting Muggle apartment they'd trekked through that day.

 

Harry smiled at him as Draco put his hand in the small of Harry's back, turning them both away from the odd stare the French Muggle kept giving them. "I still think the one we saw two times before this had the most potential, Sir. It's not the cheapest one we've seen, but it seemed like the best floorplan." He blushed as he explained, "The bedroom was the biggest there. I know it didn't have an en suite, but none of them do, and, but, that one it was right across the hall. And the kitchen was pretty nice, and there was that balcony. I know it's a high rise and you didn't seem too excited about it and it was kinda manky inside, but honestly, if you're not going to let me work, then I haven't got anything else to do all day, anyway--"

 

Draco suddenly felt the urge to lean closer and fasten his mouth over Harry's, perhaps just to get him to quit rambling, although it was somewhat endearing to listen to him list the things he felt were important qualities in a flat to take care of him. Instead he canted his head, eyes crinkling in amusement as he placed his finger against Harry's lips, which parted for the briefest of seconds as though Harry were harboring adverse thoughts as well.

 

Draco turned his attention back to the realtor and spoke in rapid French, indicating their interest in the flat that Harry had picked. When the Muggle spoke of a security deposit, Draco pulled a thick bank-roll out of his pocket. The realtor gaped, and Harry was suddenly at his side, peeling off bills and helping Draco to thrust the rest back into his blazer. They both mumbled something about a checking account, and Draco waited until they were alone to ask Harry what the hell they were talking about.

 

It took them one hour to upack their meager belongings into the flat. Draco transfigured one of his trunks into a bed, and though hard and somewhat uncomfortable, was sufficient. They ate standing or sitting in the large and empty kitchen, mostly sandwiches and cereal the first week, because Harry had made, or rather, begged Draco to spent his what little they had left on cleaning supplies. The next week, while Draco was working, Harry had managed to bring back some pots and pans. He didn't say where he'd got them, and Draco didn't ask, though from the way they were dinged up and made all of their meals taste faintly of aluminum, Draco was certain they were both cheap and used. It took several weeks, and Harry working the budget before Draco began to see other items of, what Draco had come to view in a rather short time, as luxury, rather than necessity.

 

One day, he came home and the battered card table they'd been using for a dinner table had been replaced with something much more solid looking, perhaps oak. When Draco smoothed his hand over it, the round top was scratched and stained, and looked like someone had gouged a portion of it repeatedly with the tines of a fork. It rocked only slightly on it's pedastle base and there were four mismatched chairs to accompany it. Still,a great improvement from what they'd had.

 

It was only after a matching bedroom set in good condition showed up that Draco thought to question how Harry was managing to get all this furniture up the stairs without the use of magic.

 

Harry had flushed when he responded that there were a couple of American gents on the fourth floor that he'd kept bumping into at flea markets and car boot sales around town, and they would all help eachother carry their purchases back. Draco had been torn between amazement at Harry's resourcefullness and the speed and ease at which he had made friends, as well as angered that he hadnn't been told sooner, or introduced. Too, he was frightned that they'd be discovered, and everything they'd been working for would be stripped away before they'd gotten any chance to enjoy it. in the end, Draco had given Harry a sound spanking, and orders not to leave the flat until further notice.

 

That particular order had lasted only 4 days, until Draco came home to a meal of cereal and stale toast, and a sink that had been full of dishes for two days, because they were out of soap and Draco had been too tired, on returning home from work,to stop for it on the way. That same weekend, Harry and Draco were invited to Mike and Gideon's flat, and Draco had been able to put his mind to ease that the two men were neither Wizards, nor interested stealing Harry away for themselves. In fact, they were lovers, doing a year abroad at the local university, partly for the fun of it, but mostly to get away from the scrutiny of over-bearing and disapproving parents. Draco could relate, and despite the fact that they were Muggles, he liked them almost instantly.

 

Soon enough, things settled down into a normal routine. Draco would rise early, as usual, and Harry would make him breakfast before he left for work. He spent eleven hours a day, learning how to do everything from grow the necessary plants to brewing potions, to combining everything with complex spell work into a working remedy for common and uncommon ailments; all under Roam Skenderian's watchful eye. The aging wizard's gruff mannerisms were nothing like the fluid, swirling motions that characterized Draco's godfather and favorite professor, but there was something reminiscent of Severus Snape that made him fond of the man despite his tendency to bark at Draco.

 

In the evenings, they would share dinner, and Draco would study his books as well as those he'd been lent by Skenderian, until either his eyes blurred, or Harry proved to be too much of a distraction to accomplish anything further. Weekends were anyone's guess. Sometimes, they would spend the weekend in bed, making up for a particularly difficult and lonely week. Other times, Harry would drag him down to the fourth floor, and they would play Muggle card games and Draco would swill the most terribly cheap ale or vodka (though never whiskey, Draco found he never was able to stomach even the weakened Muggle equivalent) until late in the evening. Some times they would go to the park, or even on a short excursion or two.

 

In frequently, Ron and Hermione would visit, though those first meetings had been tense and awkward, and left Draco questioning his own sanity each time he found himself sending off the owl, asking them again. It wasn't until they had been gone for more than a year that Draco was even able to think about letting Harry return to England for brief trips with them. Still, Draco couldn't bring himself to go, and though he'd exchanged a scant few letters with his mother, still harbored such mutual ill will toward his father that even the thought of accompanying Harry back east made his stomach knot.

 

The time passed both slowly and quickly, and Draco found that this domesticated life rather suited him. He thought that Harry would likely agree, and not just because he wanted to please his master, whom he had taken to calling by name more often than not, simply because their new station called for it, and especially with their increasing presence in public.

 

It seemed like not long at all, before the day, one that Draco had locked into his memory some three years prior, was upon them....

 

Harry slept deeply, blissfully oblivious- he was not even aware of the gentle pressure of Draco's thumbs, stroking his sides, or the light kisses that Draco repeatedly pressed to his shoulder and neck. No, Harry was curled in the warm circle of Draco's arms, sleeping with the graceless ease of the sexually sated and safe. In contrast, Draco had laid awake in the darkness for what seemed like hours, recalling the events that had come to pass in the last three years.

 

Draco remembered the day he discovered Harry at Viteazule's; the shock and amusement of finding the hero of the Wizarding World in such a place, the thrill of the purchase and the subsequent revealation of himself as Harry's new owner, the smug satisfaction that debasing him brought... Draco knew now, that purchasing Harry was both the best, and the worst decision he had ever made.

 

Without him, Draco would, in all honesty, be unhappily married to Astoria Greengrass, possibly the father of one or more screaming brats. His life as a diplomat and businessman stale and unsatisfactory. His place as the Malfoy heir secure, his parents deep sense of satisfaction with Draco's so-called accomplishments the only things that might possibly give him a sense of joy in an otherwise empty and unfulfilled life...

 

Because of Harry Potter, Draco was in the midst of becoming something he was proud of. In another year, he would finish his apprenticeship, after which time he would hold the title of Master Apothecary. He hadn't been able to save much money; the small stipend he earned paid for their modest apartment in a Muggle high-rise, and the other amenities that they needed...but one day, after he was gainfully employed, he hoped that he would be able to save enough to open his own shop, though the where was uncertain. He wasn't sure if he would ever return to England. There wasn't there that held much interest for him, though Harry would almost certainly return, and then Draco was unsure if he could be within any proximity of the man and hold himself in check.

 

Draco sucked in a deep breath, inhaling Harry's scent. He held the breath until his lungs felt as though they would burst, and when he finally exhaled, his arms tightened around the man he had come to think of less as a subordinate, and more of as a friend and companion. Sometime in the morning, after the sun had risen, but before it was too high in the sky, Harry's contract with Draco was going to expire. Harry was going to be a free man, and he was going to run away from Draco, the way every slave Draco had ever known did the day their wands were returned to them. A lump rose in his throat and he struggled to swallow it down. Draco had come to rely on Harry, in more ways than one. Not only did Harry keep their apartment clean, manage the groceries, make his meals, and tend the small garden of potted plants Draco grew to supplement both their budget and his brewing, but he also served as conversationalist, therapist, masseur, lover, and friend. It was the last two of these that Draco would miss most; the constant companionship, his cheeky jokes, the way he made Draco feel whole and complete...

 

"Fuck, Harry..." Draco whispered into the darkness. He buried his nose into the hair at the nape of harry's neck, and just breathed, and it took every ounce of strength he had not to break down sobbing.

 

During the course of the past week, Draco had taken special care to savor the last of Harry. The last time Harry would make him pie. The last time Harry would over-cook asparagus. The last time they would fuck in the bath tub and make a complete and utter mess of the bathroom. Last night, Draco had spent hours memorizing the cavern of Harry's mouth with his tongue. They'd snogged with the senseless abandon of teenagers too scared to go any further, with the passion of two lovers recently met, and with the familiarity of a couple who had been together too long. And when Harry was too breathless to continue, Draco had worshipped his body until the two of them nearly washed away in the tides of ecstasy. 

 

Once, Draco had scoffed at the term, "making love", but that's exactly what he'd done. He would not allow Harry to leave him, his final memories of neglect and abuse, of hatred, and abysmal despair. Not that he thought Harry was capable of harboring such feelings. The bloody Gryffindor didn't seem capable of hatred; once, he'd even admitted that he felt more sorry for Voldemort than anything else. So they'd made love, and Harry would never realize it until he was gone, if he ever did, that what Draco felt for him was more than that which was generally associated with ownership...

 

The idea nearly broke Draco, and he was on the edge of doing something he'd never done before: acknowledging that his feelings for Harry ran deeper than mere fondness, deeper than lust, deeper than attachment. "I think I...I...I love you, you silly git." he whispered into the hollow of Harry's shoulders.

 

Harry sucked in a deep breath and rolled slightly toward Draco on the mattress, causing Draco to suddenly freeze, all of his limbs tightening. But Harry only stuffed one hand under the pillow as his head rolled toward Draco, and he exhaled softly.

 

After a few minutes had passed, Draco whispered, "Har? You 'wake?" When his query received no response, he allowed himself to relax slightly, and lowered his head to his own pillow, still staring into the darkness where he could make out the faint outline of Harry's profile. He ran his fingertips over the warm expanse of skin stretching from Harry's thigh to his collarbone, and sighed. The best things never lasted.

 

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Harry started to stir. Drifting, but not truly sleeping, Draco pulled Harry against him, effectively keeping him in bed. Harry put up no protest, and soon fell back asleep himself. Finally, Draco roused himself, and extricated his arms and legs from their shared embrace. Gingerly, he peeled away and eased off the bed, standing at the foot where he could soak in a last few minutes of Harry. He would not let himself watch Harry walk away. It was cowardly, and Draco knew it. But he was going to lick his wounds and sulk in private. He'd already arranged for the day off, knowing that he would be utterly destroyed, and incapable of work requiring concentration. He should have taken a week, but he couldn't afford the dock in his pay.

 

He'd meant to whisper, 'Goodbye, Harry.' but all that came out of his tightened throat was a truncated squeak. Draco was having difficulty breathing and his face felt tight and funny. He had to force himself into the small bathroom in the hallway just off their bedroom. He hovered over the sink, feeling nauseous, his stomach clenching and rolling. But he knew if he dawdled too long, Harry would wake and he'd have to face him and say goodbye again. So he turned on the shower as hot as it would go, and stepped in, dragging the curtain shut behind him. At least there, the wetness on his cheeks would be undetectable.

 

 

 

Harry awoke to the snapping of the shower curtain and the spray of the shower. He took a moment to languidly stretch, rolling in the mess of sheets briefly before dragging himself out of bed. It wasn't often that they had a lie in. He wondered if Draco was running late for work. If so, he wouldn't bother distracting him in the shower. When he dug the Muggle watch Draco had given him two Christmases prior out of the drawer in the bedside table, he realized with a start that Draco was indeed, very late. He dragged his trousers and shirt on quickly, and then raced into the kitchen to put on the tea.

 

Harry had just cracked an egg into the pan when a clicking noise, loud as a gunshot, made him jump. Frowning in confusion, Harry abandoned Draco's breakfast and went to investigate the noise, which seemed to come from the small living room, adjacent to the kitchen and just across from the bathroom. As he scanned the room, nothing seemed out of place. He poked his head into the bathroom, just in case, but through the curtain, he could see Draco's sihouette, which was braced against the wall as though he were soaking up the spray. His pose was tense, and Harry didn't want to startle him by asking if he'd heard the sound. There was no missing it, but if Draco wasn't concerned, he wouldn't be either. He was headed back to the kitchen and shut off the teapot, which was just about to sing. He only just flipped the egg and put on some toast when he was interrupted by a loud creak. It was the sort of sound you would expect to come from the hinges on a door ill used, or theatrically, when entering a haunted house. He returned to the living room, and this time, after a few minutes, realized that the wooden box on the shelf, the one that he'd long ago regarded as a mere decoration, was open.

 

A lump formed in Harry's throat, and he crossed the room. For several minutes, he simply stared down at his wand in it's velvet-lined coffin. He had known that this day was coming, though wasn't sure of the exact date. It wasn't a particularly momentous occasion. He had hoped that the day would pass without pomp and circumstance, since he had no intentions of reliquishing his post with Draco. It was strange to think that four years had passed since he had had use of his wand. Harry had been concerned, once, about giving it up. But he had spent so much of his life without a wand, the idea of having it again was almost a dream. Would his wand even respond to him after so much time unused? Perhaps it was better not to find out. He reached toward the box, intending to close it, but his fingers hovered, tingling at the proximity to the magical instrument. He paused and regarded it again. The wood was still polished after all that time, and it glistened, as if begging to be picked up. 11 inches, holly. Ollivander's wrinkled face flashed in his memory, and Harry recalled the first time he had ever held his wand. Reverently, he lifted the wand from it's case. It thrummed in his grip, and the hum of magic seemed to pulse along it's length, and up his arm, spreading throughout his body. Harry shuddered and gasped at the sensation, his fingers involuntarily curling tighter. He was just about to give a practice swish when the smell of burning food assaulted his senses.

 

"Fuck!" Harry cursed, and dashed back into the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

Draco told himself he was going to wait until he heard the slam of a door to leave the shower. But the sound never came, and curiosity was getting the better of him. He turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, pulling a towel around himself to catch the hapazard drips the rolled down his body, then plastered himself against the wall so that he could peer around the frame. Harry was standing in the living room, eyeing the wand box like it was something to be feared. Draco was unaware that he was clutching his chest as his heart practically punched a hole in his ribcage with its frantic beating. As Harry reached for the wand, Draco bit his lip, then covered his mouth with his hand to stifle any sounds from escaping. Put it back, put it back and step away. Draco willed it with all his might. Stay with me. Stay. I love you.

 

Harry let out a yell and bolted from the room, gripping his wand.

 

As Draco's legs suddenly turned to jelly, he slid to the floor. He had known this moment would come, he had prepared himself for it as best he could. But there was no way he could have known that when Harry left, it was going to hit him like this-a sudden feeling of emptyness that left him breathless. He was incapable of doing anything, not even crying. Draco's world was reduced to the small bathroom he occupied.

 

Minutes later, the acrid smell of burning food fought its way through the dissipating steam and reached his nostrils. Draco dragged himself up with a scowl. Harry must have been in such a hurry to leave that he'd left the burners on and was halfway to burning down the flat. He stomped into the smoky kitchen, surprised to find the scorched remnants of a quick fry-up in the sink. He sank into his chair at the table and grabbed the steaming cup of tea that was there waiting for him. So he'd been wrong about that. He gulped the tea, even though it burned his mouth. It didn't change the fact that Harry was gone.

 

The sound of the screen door on the balcony sliding opened made Draco jump, and he twisted in his chair. Harry gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. I got distracted and burned the shit out of your eggs. Grabbed the pan and..." he held up his right hand, displaying three bright red and blistering finger tips. "Burned the shit out of my fingers too." He paused to blow on them, and then rub something over them. "I...I remembered the aloe out on the porch. And you said the juice was good for burns. I broke a leaf off," He rambled. "I hope you're not upset." It was then that Harry got a good look at the look on Draco's face. It was a mix of bewilderment and anger.

 

"Fine." Draco snapped irritably. He fought the urge to draw Harry into his arms and never let him go. He forced himself to remain cold. "If you don't require further medical attention, I assume you'll be on your way."

 

"On my way?" Fleeting confusion crossed Harry's face just before it fell.

 

"Come on, Harry. There's no reason for you to play the part of a martyr any longer. You don't owe me a damn thing. You've got your wand, just take it and get out of my sight."

 

"No!" He gasped and fell to his knees with a bang loud enough to make Draco wince. Tears were rapidly forming in Harry's eyes, and no wonder. "Please no, Draco. Master. Sir. Please!" He crawled to Draco's feet and prostrated himself, curling his hands around Draco's shins. "Please don't make me go!"

 

Draco's gut clenched and his hope rose like a phoenix. Trembling fingers found their way to Harry's hair. "M-make you go? Don't you want to?"

 

"No!" Harry half-sobbed. "Please! Please...let me stay. I'll do anything...sign another contract, break my wand in half...whatever you want, Master, please!"

 

Draco hauled Harry against him, feeling the man's heart pounding through his ribcage and Harry clutched Draco's fingers against his chest. For a moment, Draco thought that his own heart had ceased beating. "Don't," He managed as he turned Harry's face upward so that he could plant a litany of kisses on it. "Don't want you--" He was suddenly cut off as Harry surged upward, mashing their mouths together, frantically sucking Draco's tongue into his own mouth.

 

"I can..." Harry broke away only momentarily before Draco fisted his hair and reeled him back. Harry groaned and pulled back again. "...be better." Another kiss. "Promise. Please!" Draco's plundering tongue slowed.

 

"What are you bloody on about?" Draco panted against Harry's lips.

 

Harry pulled back, his green eyes dark and haunted looking. They searched Draco's face before shunting to the floor. "I know things have...I have gotten too lax of late, Draco. Master." He corrected. "I can be better. I'll show you! I'm sorry, Master. I'll go back to the way I was before. The way things were, before. I won't take any more liberties, and I'll stop pestering you when you're trying to study, and, and, and..." He was gulping in breathes, starting to grow panicky.

 

Draco was gaping at Harry. The fool thought Draco was going to send him away because he wasn't good enough? Here he was a free man, and he was throwing himself at Draco's mercy, promising to work harder to please him? "No!" Draco said forcefully.

 

Harry's face crumpled and he almost slid out of Draco's arms and onto the floor-he would have if Draco's arms hadn't tightened around him. "Please..." Harry whispered. "Please don't send me away...anything."

 

Someone had to stop this madness. Draco shook his head to clear it, then took Harry's face tenderly in his hand again. "Harry, look at me. I said, look at me. No one is sending you anywhere. For Merlin's sake." He wiped Harry's new onset of tears away with his fingers. "I thought you were leaving me, and that is clearly not the case. Fuck, I am not about to throw you out of the flat. I...I have wanted nothing more than for you to stay here with me. I just...I just can't believe you'd want to."

 

Harry beamed and wiped the last traces of wetness from his face with his own hand. "Why wouldn't I want to? I...You...You're... my everything." He reached his hand toward Draco, though it hovered just centimeters from his face as though he were afraid now, of all times, to touch him.

 

Draco took Harry's hand in his, pressed it to his cheek, and then turned his own face, kissing the palm. "Don't you dare change." He said. "Take your liberties. You've bloody well earned them." He tipped Harry's chin up and planted a much more chaste kiss on his lips this time. "And you had better not stop calling me 'Draco'. You know what it does to me." 

 

Harry groaned with what must have been relief, though it appeared Draco's final insinuation was not lost to him as he rolled his hips. "Draco," He purred.

 

"Hmmmm," Draco hummed in response, and thrust his hips, rubbing himself against Harry's thigh.

 

"Oh, Gods, Draco." came Harry's lusty whisper. He turned his body against Draco and rubbed their growing erections together.

 

Draco sighed contentedly, and slipped his hand under Harry's shirt. His fingers quickly found Harry's nipple, and he pinched the skin tightly around the ring that pierced it, then gave a sharp tug.

 

Harry gasped and arched into his touch. "Dracoooooo," He crooned when the man repeated his ministrations to the other niple.

 

Abruptly, Draco stood, half balancing Harry with one arm. With the other, he quickly swept the settings off the table. His tea cup smashed on the floor, and Harry cringed at the sound, then craned his neck to look at. "Master?" he questioned, voice full of wonder, just before was hauled on top of the table. Draco waved his wand, banishing both of their clothing without a thought, then let it clatter to the floor before climbing a top the table. "What are you looking at me like that for?" He smirked down at Harry as he planted his knees between Harry's thighs, then raked his fingers down Harry's smooth, suntaned chest.

 

'The dinner table has a certain sanctity that shall not be violated with naked flesh and body fluids,' Harry quoted him, his voice a stage whisper and his eyes wide.

 

"Good thing we're still on breakfast then," Draco grunted, hauling Harry's hips upward and parting the cheeks of his ass.

 

Harry's arms flopped comically before he grabbed the tabletop. "Draco?"

 

"What is it now, Harry?" He teased, slicking his cock with spit although Harry was likely still lubed from the night before.

 

"Am I still Yours?"

 

"Yes." He said perfunctorily. Draco cocked his head and evaluated the man beneath him a moment before thrusting into him, burying himself deeply in that single hard stroke. Harry cried out softly and readjusted his legs around Draco's back. "Mine." Draco said softly, lowering himself on his arms to claim a kiss from the man which did not rightfully belong to him, but for reasons unknown, somehow, did.

 

Harry smiled and rocked his hips in response. His eyes shone up at Draco, and he slipped his arm behind Draco's neck, pulling him closer so that their flesh was joined at every juncture. "Mmmh," he sighed, then echoed, "Mine."

 

The End.

 

(Who am I kidding? Okay, not really. Sequel to follow....look for "Dousing The Flames", coming soon to a website near you!)


End file.
